State of play. We’re 20 minutes into the third quarter. Things are pretty rough. Things are not looking good. We’re being dominated offensively and our defence, if not shaky, is not at its most fortuitous. I apologise for the football analogy/metaphor but it is just how I feel right now. I’ve just had a solid car accident, my car has passed away and I will never drive poor Bessie again. Fortunately I am not hurt, physically. I’ve certainly taken a hit mentally. My mind has been scuffled. I’ve been at a point of supreme confidence for the past few weeks. My love life is healthy, I’m still attractive to women, still impressive to strangers and I’m starting to feel like I am most certainly employable and perhaps one day I will feel as if I am indisposable.
And then, BAM! I plow into the back of a woman’s car after she stopped suddenly. My whole life has been brought back to square one. Like that, in a instance. What a terrible plight. And yet, I’m fine, my body is fine, my life isn’t all that affected. Why has it struck so significantly? It just jolts all those little pieces of the puzzle and moves them out of place. Am I really happy with how I am travelling? The footy season is finishing so I am no longer an interim editor, I’m stuck in two hospitality jobs that aren’t going to catapult me to any great heights, I have absolutely no idea if my love life is satisfying at a level greater than the physical because I am still shit scared of committing for some inane and deeply personal reason and I’m not sure how deep my love is for my own being. All these things have just happened in three hours. My head is a fucking jungle. If I’m not first, I’m last. Thanks Ricky Bobby for that one. I’m even quoting Ricky Bobby for fuck’s sake!
The truth is, I’m fucking terrified of how vulnerable I become in these scenarios. A couple of knocks and I am way off track. I’m heading to Mexico when I’m due in Seattle. Is it my destiny to be confused and uncomfortable and anxious whenever an ice berg jumps out of the water? For the next six months I quite possibly may not have a car of any sort considering the fact that I have booked a flight to London in March and it is not like I can afford to throw a few thousand at a cheap bomb and continue on my merry way. No sirree! I’m sad, but I’m thrilled, but I’m confused, but I’m scared, but I’m elated, but I’m sick, but I’m sorry, but I’m everything and I am nothing. I could put all the blame on the cruel fate of life, however essentially I only have myself to blame.
At once I am reaching for the possibility of everything and terrified of the consequences. I mean, I sat in an acting class and screamed at an invisible mirror that reflected my image. I screamed at all my flaws, crucified myself for being me and for what? It felt like an out of body experience. I was blaming myself with every emblazoned hair on my body and yet I felt like once it was done, I was just back in the same position. A self-satisfied, trembling, hot mess. My ego walks through a door before I arrive for certain occasions and then it is the first to leave at other points. I fear I am remarkably inconsistent, a true enigma of a person… and not in a good way. Self-indulgent, yet the first to crucify myself. Reliable yet aloof. Loyal yet searching for something bigger. Committed, yet fearful of the repercussions. A desire to be everything, yet shrugging my shoulders when I am happily nothing.
We’re 20 minutes into the last quarter. I’m still here. I still want it all. So take it. Take the ball and run. Just don’t run into the back of someone else.