I want to talk about frustration. You might not want to talk about it, but that doesn’t really matter, because I’m the one with the keyboard in front of me, and time on my hands I really wish I didn’t have. Although I suppose if you’re actually reading this crap, that probably applies to both of us.
As I write this, for example, the time is 4.22am. I can’t sleep, I can’t do what I really want to be doing, and I have absolutely no chance at all of getting into the right frame of mind to do what I really should be doing (besides sleeping).
Insomnia, for those who are unfamiliar with it, is not a lack of trying to sleep… nor is it a lack of tiredness. I am absolutely exhausted! But my mind is elsewhere…
Anyone ever see L.A. Story? (Sorry… Couldn’t find the right clip) Huh?
“Let your mind go, and your body will follow”? (which is the clip I was actually looking for)
Isn’t that great? Well… it would be, except that where my mind has gone, my body cannot! All of which would still be acceptable if the smug little shit didn’t keep sending me postcards, saying: “Having a wonderful time. It’s a bit chilly but there is a full schedule of activities, and the company is divine! Hope you’re happy back there in PRISON! Mwahahahaha!!” That all seems a bit melodramatic, but my mind never really liked me very much, and has always enjoyed showing me things I would really rather not have seen.
Meanwhile, back here in reality, the part of my brain (which we will hereafter refer to as “Brain”, to distinguish it from “Mind”) which has been left here to keep me alive, is not doing so great a job either. My body tries to blot out the “postcards” by listening to music, or playing the guitar, but Brain goes “Shhhh!!!” Body tries to go for a walk, but Brain alone is apparently not sufficiently streetwise to prevent me from walking in front of traffic. Body tries to go to sleep, but Mind apparently forgot to tell Brain where the light switch is. Body tries to do jobs, but Brain is apparently not to be trusted with power tools.
All in all, it’s a bit like being very hungry, whilst locked in a cold prison cell with a window overlooking a fantastic restaurant, on a tropical beach, where everyone is playing music, eating really good food, and having sex… whilst just pleasantly drunk… under a moonlit sky… while they wait for dessert… to be served on gold plates… by Santa! And you can bang on the glass all you want to; no-one is going to bring you a plate of chicken… or a blanket. Pretty soon, the only solution is to pull out your own eyes and use them to plug your ears to muffle the screams, as you chew through your own foot and imagine it’s a very rare steak.
Now… it’s possible I got a bit carried away there, but that should be all the proof you need of just what frustration is doing to my mind. Yes, yes… it’s true that knitting suspension bridges out of spaghetti might seem like a perfectly rational pastime to my mind, even when I’m not frustrated and sleep-deprived, but this time it really is bad. My life is completely out of my hands at the moment. I have no transport for the first time in almost 20 years – I’m living in someone else’s house – I’m borrowing someone else’s (somewhat unreliable) internet connection so I can write these things – I have personal relationships which are beyond my control, as well as being more complicated than instructions for building a cold fusion engine out of blu-tack and lollipop sticks; translated from Mandarin Chinese, over a broken radio, by a drunk, dyslexic Scotsman with a bad-case of hiccups and a tendency to skip the boring bits. I can’t even make films without relying on others to be there, because I’m supposed to be dead.
I guess you’ll know if I survived the week, when the next blog post arrives. Until then, I hope you have enjoyed your weekend, and, in the absence of a sufficiently clever way to end this post, I will simply say, whe….