Interesting Times

Sunset is always the best time to start something new. A lot of people witter about mornings as new beginnings but that never made much sense to me, especially in average life in modern day. It’s so hard to find a moment in the morning in between waking to the hated alarm and toast and morning rush to work to think, let alone begin anything. Sunset is the onset of leisure time (for most, at least), alone time, own time, free of a set structure or an obligatory position or situation, kids go to bed, all that malarkey.
I have neither standard daytime work or children to organise at home, and yet appreciate the coming of night. The quiet, dark times when one can be alone, uninterrupted and free of the vile starkness of the unforgiving day. I always feel somehow unlike myself when I sleep at night and wake in the morning, as if conforming to the societal norm is a betrayal of my own personality, which given this preference, I suppose it is in a way. But everyone does in some way, don’t they? Whether it’s living with the resentments, desires or secrets, each of us holds part of ourselves back, sure that the great hulking beast of acceptance will find us wanting and bring the crushing weight of disapproval or judgement slamming down and make some dreadful irreversible impact on our existence.
Only they so rarely do, you know. These secrets we keep, silently fearing the inevitable discovery and subsequent chaos, they are so seldom as they seem. Don’t get me wrong I am not saying they don’t cause pain or destruction, far from it. But they rarely kill innocent people, they don’t tear great holes in the fabric of time, they don’t have some devastating effect on gravity. Anything we do is less than nothing, but yet, it is also everything. Which is more limiting? The thought that the entirety of every effort expended in your lifetime amounts to nothing at all in the scheme of the universe, or the crippling knowledge of the effect of anything you do on everyone else?
I seem to be constantly conscious of both, and it’s something like being a space between two atoms so close that to the rest of existence they are bonded. It’s so hideously limiting, but the knowledge of the effect on my surroundings is a terrifying control. The result would be a mere reaction between two of the smallest parts of the very universe, probably nothing else within it would even know, but for those distorted briefly by the ripples around what I do. But the chance of some unimaginable and horrific chain reaction is there, impossibly remote, but there. So here I stay.
There are easier ways to explain it, and probably I could come up with better analogies, but now, sat in the half light in this tired room with the generic radio and pub sounds seeping in around me, it seems the most suitable.

It’s a reasonably fatalistic argument inviting all sorts of hopelessness, this sort of talk, which is strange, because my rage at apathy is so strong today. So much fury, tiresome, righteous fury, keeps rolling through me as people display their proud ignorance, their cruelty. Take the situation at my little family commune, for instance. But to be able to show what they HAVE, and ...wont have, and are wasting on typical humdrum negativity. It raises such ire in me, to see someone sitting, doing nothing, letting minutes that could be filled with life slip away, or rather flood away in great waves, doing nothing more than feeling sorry for themselves. But why? Why spend the minutes lamenting that they are passing? DO SOMETHING! Build, travel, create, talk, laugh, cry, explore! Tell the people you love that you love them, savour every taste, get on a train with no knowledge of the destination, visit places you’ve never heard of, paint your car with polka dots, go horse riding, anything. Just don’t lapse into bitterness, pain and hate.
Please.
I…don’t want to remember you that way.
I was told today I was heartless for resenting the wasted time. But some never got that time. Carla, Melissa, Mark…they didn’t get a warning. A year, a month, even a fucking day before, just that whisper there, that chance. What is the good of giving time if someone will just sit upsetting other people? There’s no justice. There’s just ME. But at least there should be the respect to live as much as you can until you are gone…in honour of the people who didn’t get that choice.
Maybe that sounds hypocritical of me. After all, most people know of my indifference regarding survival. But at the same time, I live my life as best I can to try and do things for other people, though I tend to fail disastrously for the most part. So many times I try only to find not only have I failed, but I’ve made everything that bit worse.
But I don’t stop trying.
It seems the only respectful thing to do with a life I don’t really want but can’t give to the people I want to have it. Unless you count giving blood.
Which I do.
Please don’t think my thoughts on the subject mean I don’t care. Please don’t think it doesn’t hurt.
It’s been hurting since I knew what it was to fear this. But there is no point being afraid anymore.
Ranty day today. Well, most days really.
But to attempt to end on a positive, I can see the tower lights from here and they are my most coveted deepest blue.