I'm not sleeping; just dead

so anyway, we're in the pub and i'm thinking why do i bother?

and yeah, you're thinking, if i knew zen in the flesh, in the real world, for real, would i like him? well, you might or might not. i try too hard, and you might be interested in what i'm saying or not. if you are, you might like me, and if you aren't, well, you might not. the thing is, i have no idea what impression i make. i'm not trying to make one. maybe i should. it's not that i can't behave myself. don't get the wrong impression. i went to a job interview the other day, and i knew i had made a good impression. i could see they were at ease. i had to negotiate money with them though, and i'm not good at that. i cringe at the mention of money, and i've never had any real sense of it. am i happy with x dollars? well, maybe, but x dollars feels like a chain. how do i get enough to go home? not that i'm going home. i traded my freedom for security for my kids. yeah, give me a medal while you're putting the sack over my head.

i am sad because i used to care and now i don't. most people don't know what that's like because they never cared in the first place. I know, most people have no honour, no sense of shame. they only see it in others. people do things i would be ashamed to do, and maybe i do what they'd be ashamed of too. but fuck shit cunt piss are less shameful than i just sacked you because i can hire someone cheaper. you know, aren't they? because a word is gone moments later.

i have to be numb, or i am angry. and i know that i'm angry with myself, not anyone else. g, my "boss" at w, has been shit to me, but i have in some measure deserved it. i have become so detached from work, from everything, that i haven't been a good editor. it's like those footballers, who you know have talent, but just can't be arsed. they never quite make it. and i am like that, as good an editor as you will find, but lazy, not diligent, distracted, like a footballer who prefers birds and booze to hard yakka at the training ground. so i blew it, at least in part. but the thing is, i don't know how much.

i don't know how much. that's the thing. i don't know what measure of blame i should take for it, and how much was just g's bad management. i don't know how much of this, that, the other to give a friend in a conversation, or a series of conversations. i don't have clear limits.

does that make me good to know? i think it means you have to be prepared to go off the map. because i am not working with the same map you are; at least i hope not. and why are you anyway? i've never met anyone happy who wasn't faking it.

we do that, i know. we fake it because it is like having honour. we fake it because we want to be proud that we don't let others down. we fake it because we have no idea what it would really be like.

on the way home on friday, i got off the bus at coolibah street and walked home. the night was cool and clear, and i was listening to explosions in the sky. life is fantastic in those moments, and that is all. when i look at my kids and think, why? i remind myself of those diamond-brilliant moments, and that's why.

and you know, i no longer dream of flying. because to fly you have to come equipped with wings. but now i dream of swimming. you can always find away to float above it. that's why i'm worth knowing. i am not wasting your time with ideals, because we are not pretending that we have any. we are going first in honour, being the first to show it. we are honouring each other by not faking it. well, i am.

you know, here is a picture. we're out by Thingvallatn and it is minus ten. we planned a picnic, and we run out and have it. we are laughing and even the cold feels warm.

we are out there, me, mrs z, my mum, my dad, my sisters, zenella. we are out there laughing in the snow. we are outside everything we know, and we are laughing, free and happy. happy in the snow. welcome to yeah whatever. if you don't like it, fuck off.

posted by Dr Zen @ 10:51 pm