Mariah Carey: Outside

It’s hard to explain
Inherently it’s just always been strange
Neither here nor there
Always somewhat out of place everywhere
Ambiguous
Without a sense of belonging to touch
Somewhere halfway
Feeling there’s no one completely the same

Standing alone
Eager to just
Believe it’s good enough to be what
You really are
But in your heart
Uncertainty forever lies
And you’ll always be
Somewhere on the
Outside

Outside by Mariah Carey

I know I haven’t written much here this week. I don’t feel depressed, or pessimistic, but it’s more like I can see the futility of my life as it is right now. I feel like I’m going nowhere, and yet I don’t know how to get out of this rut. I have so many issues to overcome that I don’t know where to start.

Last week I had the idea of moving abroad or studying in Wales or Scotland, to start afresh somewhere new. Where no one would know me, where I wouldn’t be burdened by the expectations of those who have some kind of interest in my life. It’s a tempting idea, but I still don’t feel that fire that I used to feel about the future, and about my potential. I remember that girl who spent a year in music college, despite all the reasons for not bothering, and I wonder what’s happened to her? Maybe it’s just part of growing older, but I don’t totally believe that. I feel like I don’t have faith in myself anymore.

I’m miserable at work, I feel taken for granted. I feel like a cog in the wheel. I feel like people think that I’m just a fat, stupid, lazy person who can’t do anything more challenging than filing and photocopying. The work itself is demanding, not only mentally but emotionally. It’s difficult to deal with people who may have mental issues; who might start crying when you speak to them (or worse). Also, the general atmosphere there is awful right now. There have been cuts to the organisation’s funding, which means that some people will have cuts to their working hours. I feel really isolated; I feel I can’t trust anyone there. Every man for himself. You’d think a counselling centre would be a nicer place. but all the niceness feels so artificial sometimes.

This week hasn’t been all bad though. I helped Dirk to sell his old scooter on ebay, and got �50 for my trouble. (Easiest �50 I’ve ever made!) When he gave me the dosh I was a bit naughty and slipped it into my bra like the women do in those old movies. You should’ve seen the look on his face.

Monty the Monkey’s doing well. Right now he’s lounging on top of one of my hi-fi speakers.

Today I went to Croydon to hide amongst the crowds. There were so many people there; the Christmas season is well underway. There were beautiful lights up everywhere. I spotted a tramp sitting next to some steps writing on a balloon. A crowd had congregated outside an empty stage area. A tall stocky security officer was stationed at the corner of the stage, looking formidable. As I walked past him I heard him humming a Christmas tune to himself…

I bought myself a real work of art today. I’m not even going to say how much it cost, cos it would just cause one of you to call my local health authority to get me sectioned. It’s gorgeous though, and I’d been looking at it for a while. It was too big for me to carry home so I got the shop to keep it downstairs for me until I can sort out transport. The silly thing is, I have nowhere to put it right now. It’s actually for my future flat. My own home. An impossibility in the current housing market, epecially in London. And especially while I’m working part-time. One can dream though.

I’ve actually bought several things for the flat. Mostly art prints, but also a pair of lampshades. It’s probably just as bad as my brother’s ex buying loads of baby clothes for the baby that they never conceived. I guess it’s something to aim towards.

Maybe this is the choice that I have to make now. Start a real career so I can get a flat of my own, or continue to work part-time in the hopes that I’ll break through my writer’s block and maybe make a career from writing.

Why can’t I just be like everyone else? Why doesn’t the thought of a husband and 2.4 children fill me with joy? Why do I want a life of adventure, creativity and fun above stability and security? What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be happy with what I have?

Written by PJ | Posted in Uncategorized

You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.