It's Been A While

It's been a while since I last wrote. (Seventh point of underachieving - Inconsistency, followed by guilt.)

I could reel off the reasons for that (Eighth point of underachieving - Have an excuse for your inconsistency, in order to appease the guilt), but I won't. (Ninth point of underachieving - Feel constant guilt.) Let me just tell you what's been going on. Since 'you' actually means 'no-one', you won't mind if I just keep to the facts. No jazzing it up. You'll notice I don't have a lot of jazziness about me today. I hope you'll forgive that.

I haven't been running for weeks. I took a holiday. On that holiday I took my running shoes. I didn't run. I had a great holiday. Sun, beach, good food, my boyfriend, Scrabble, and hot weather sex. Idyllic is how they would describe it in the brochures. And it was. But there was no running.

I started a new book. It's not by Richard Yates, but I wish it was. I miss Richard. I googled him the other day. It came as no surprise to hear he was a heavy drinking, chain-smoking man with a history of breakdowns and god knows what else. I don't mind, though. I don't love him any less. This book I'm reading is probably very good. I can't say because I am so caught up in the fact that the sentences aren't crafted in the same way as Richard's, and the story is not set in the 50s. It's set in our time. The main character is flawed, so that's something, but I really don't care about him. So far he has been in hospital for an undiagnosed bout of agony, and he has also been hit by a car. I can't help thinking I wish he hadn't struggled through either. I don't think I'm supposed to care about him, and that makes it all the more confounding. So what's the point? Anyhow, I'll push on because I'm told it's a great book and I should stop being quite so narrow-minded. Not everyone can be Richard Yates. This one is by A. M. Homes. It's called 'This Book Will Save Your Life'.

It's been raining a lot. That is the unfortunate truth about English summers, and one that I will never quite accept fully. I am yet to find a way to stop my morale from taking a nose dive whenever the clouds gather. In the midst of winter when it's as miserable as can be, I can cope. Usually. I can cope because that is what is supposed to happen. But summer? And now I am blogging about the weather, which leads me to...

Lately I have been feeling absolutely devoid (can 'devoid' be qualified by 'absolutely'?) of inspiration. I met with a friend in Blackheath the other day. We went to the pub and drank 3 pints. He's a budding photographer. He's really talented. He's an interesting guy because he's not like anyone else and he doesn't mind that. (I think Richard would have liked him.) I like that he is his own person, despite telling him often that he should be different. What I really tell him is that he has to believe in himself more and indulge his creativity more, not that I actually want him to change, because I really don't want that. Anyway, he typically tells me the same thing back. I find that hard to take. It's hard to take because I know he's right but I much prefer telling other people to be told these things. So after our 3 pints, it was decided that he should have a photography exhibition, and I should write more. Neither of us really wanted to listen to the other about that stuff (because we both know it already) so, chances are, neither will happen in the immediate future. Still, we had a good time and it's good to talk about those things with him. Maybe we both just need time.