All I know is Volvo
I’ve not written anything in too long. It’s been a difficult course for me — I’d been so accustomed to the ease and routine of waking up, shitting, brushing my teeth, interacting with people, then, somewhere in between, I’d find inspiration to write something — anything.
It all stopped all of a sudden, like being sucked into a vacuum. There was nothing, literary purgatory surrounded me and I felt lost. I still woke up — if I was fortunate enough to sleep — then shit, brush my teeth but what followed would no longer be that serendipitous feeling of an idea, story, character or even just the bumbling of words turning into sentences in my head. There was nothing.
It’s difficult for me to truly understand how I got to where I am now, but one morning the sun didn’t rise with the same excitement, stretching their arms out, the days didn’t quite feel as full, and the nights seemed to welcome me like a long lost friend.
It saddens me still that I no longer find logic in many of the things I do. Struggling to justify myself internally has been a hell in itself, one that I’m still unable to explain to myself, let alone to those I care about.
There was always some reason to my insanity, I always knew what I was doing or accepted the repercussions of my actions. Decisions were always educated and weighted and always, always justifiable.
I miss my father. I miss being around him, his stomach and goatee and the way he smiled. There was always sadness and worry in his eyes but he was great at feigning just the opposite. I’ve never been a particularly sentimental person but I’m quickly realizing that maybe all of that is just bullshit I tell myself. I do that often, convince myself of bullshit.
Sat in a bar in Edinburgh, I write this. Why, I do not know. But I annoy myself with how predictable I have become. I’m not certain how many whiskeys I’ve drunk so far but the number is one I prefer to not to think of. I sit here drunk, writing to nobody, maybe myself, maybe calling to someone, but I still sit here drunk. And I hate this more than anything in the world because it is the same story each morning as I wake up and shit and brush my teeth then find myself drunk someplace, somewhere. A sorry excuse of a cliche.
I’ve always thought of myself as an introspective person. They tell you accepting you have a problem is the half the battle, but that’s bullshit. I’ve got a problem, yet I feel like a pawn in a chess game that is two moves away from falling.
In my childhood I was privileged to have a great father who gave me much. We used to laugh that all the things I researched and spoke of in detail were so utterly pointless, he’d say I only knew things about Volvo. Perhaps all I know is Volvo. Because I feel alone, clueless and I don’t know if I will ever overcome this or perhaps I’m being dramatic. Either way, I don’t like myself very much right now.
Goodnight,
Joe
