The months fly by, and every time I check it is a different one, but I’ve lost my dread that they pass, that time goes by. It simply happens. I chose emotional over political a while ago and held fast to it, but every so often I reacted badly to people who choose the opposite. I think about hurt, but don’t wonder if anyone else feels it too because it’s outside my ability to see things through other people’s eyes. I wonder if it’s more important to be kind to people or to get shit done, because in reality there are very few people who do either thing, so they are probably as important as each other and no more. I would like to be the former and sometimes to often I am.
I believe that I am being consumed by negativity. I no longer think about what things mean but simply react to them with anger. I drop angry comments without stopping to ask myself the consequences and occasionally I am too fragile to verify the result of them. I have a weird relationship with the human race, in which I often feel oddly tender moments of love for the individual that I’m speaking to but when I think of people in an abstract sense I feel afraid of them and disgusted by them. I question whether I’ll have a close relationship with anyone now that I’m no longer early-twenties stock, because we stop meeting people and getting to know them for the sake of it after a certain age: once we are above twenty-whatever we need to know them for a reason. Once I get married it will no longer be legit to have female companions, but it doesn’t matter a whole lot to me. I might get married in the next two years; I know a girl with whom I would like to shut out the world and just be with her, lately I’ve become more convinced, and for the moment I trust that she would like me around. She says so.
The phone just rang right now and I reacted with irritation, like I do with every minor and unexpected interruption. When did I become this way? When did it reach the stage where anger and irritation is my automatic reaction? And was I afraid? I don’t know, did everything relate to that, that thing from the past? I drive my car, and her. I eat my lunch, and there she is, always there in my mind. But new things should be entering my head, I should let them if they don’t, because once a person stops being open to newness he is finished, absolutely. And yet three point something years later, there she still was. I never really got over the sadness of that sudden about-face rejection from her, the anger that it later developed into. And after her there were not many pieces left to pick up so that I could try again, because I had given away my most passionate love and I couldn’t find much more to give to anyone else. But there were different kinds of love, and some: while not as self-consuming, weren’t lesser but simply different.
The tennis is here, the tennis will go. Today’s ephemeral time-killers will become tomorrow’s why-did-I-care-about-that-little-piece-of-unimportant-trivia. I started work at a restaurant two and a half months ago, and it keeps me level but I achieve nothing with my days, for the moment and perhaps forever. I want money but I don’t want to own anything, but even more confusingly I don’t want to suffer from the same afflictions that the others who own nothing suffer. Sometimes it is wilful simplicity and sometimes it is genuine simplicity, and sometimes it is wilful ignorance and sometimes it is just lazy ignorance. I might be broken but I suspect that everyone is broken in some way; if you do not fulfil certain dreams it hurts, and too much. I have time but not so much; perhaps that’s the best way to be. People say that we need a sense of urgency to achieve something today. I don’t care if what they have to say is new as long as how they say it is new. I feel pity and contempt at the same time, and at the same time love and fear and is that hatred, all at once? Or is hatred too strong a word for something so capricious?