A mere ten days ago, I commented that it can be quite a dull thing to blog/talk about, especially if the reader/listener is not involved in making films. But sod it, I love talking about films, and that is because I am in the middle of making one!
Now while that is a pure pice of geekery, it does provide me with an enjoyable piece of escapism. And that is one of the big reasons why I am exercising my right to futility.
I am probably about a third of the way through my life, give or take, and assuming I live to the average British male lifespan. That's it, one third of all my days on this Earth are gone, finished, never to return. And for what? Bills dropping though my letterbox, a job that neither is secure nor makes me fulfilled (not saying it is bad, but it is just a job), a life spent in debt so I can own my own two bedroom box only to end up selling it so I can spend my final days pi**ing in a cot looking up at the clouds wondering, what if? Maybe I look too much into life, maybe I read too deeply and should accept what people usually term as fate. But that is a hard thing for me to do, and also a depressing one. To believe that the best days are over and all I have left are an endless spew of commitments that won't a make a difference to anyone and that instead of living, I am surviving, death by a thousand paper cuts instead of going out in a blaze of glory. Being paid enough so I can pay off what I owe. Seeing the world turn, and I myself powerless to stop it. What is the point of all this intelligence we have as humans, if we do not utilise it for more than just mediocre?
When you see the free spirited, the squatters, the hippies and all those other tree huggers, I can see why the general public, including myself, deride them. They are free from all the material bulls**t that we trap ourselves with. And while they do not have much, there is a happiness in having very little. In all my travels around the world and within this country, it is the people with the least that always give the most. It is the people who cannot afford to loose any more money that are easier with it. While the ones for whom it would not really make a difference are the people who are never any happier within the fortresses they have built themselves.
I need to eat, I need to put food on the table. Pretty much everything else is gravy, especially now that spring has left me without the need for central heating (I use a blanket at night). The path that I have chosen is rocky at best, and downright frustrating most of the time. And the likelihood of success is minute. But the hope of something better is an emotion I cling onto. To give up now would cause a fundamental change in the very being I call 'myself'. I am holding onto the last vestiges of childhood and I know that eventually I must join the masses. But there must be something beyond that rock I am clinging onto...