the waiting room

selling my indulgences

Spanish_Inquisition_(Monty_Python)
Originally uploaded by Warpo.

I don’t suppose I’ve mentioned that I’ve as good as graduated from my course. My results weren’t to my particular liking though, I suppose that’s to be expected given I didn’t attend any classes. I was really a little disappointed with my Modern American results, but I’ve come to expect that the worse results will come from things you enjoy more. And I really did enjoy Charles Johnson’s work, because I dig philosophical texts. I’ll have to read Hesse’s Siddartha eventually I suppose, although it probably has little to do with Keanu Reeves.

And I don’t know what to do from here. A bunch of my friends are furthering their studies. I don’t think I’ll pursue that road currently.

I’m not currently employed, but I was working for awhile there. It wasn’t a bad job I’d say, even though it didn’t pay that well, with the main perk being that it was within walking distance of my house meaning that I saved on transport and got to go home for meals. It was a temp job, which explains the not paying that well, and I’d gotten it through a friend, who thought I’d get interviewed for a higher level position given my education background. But I didn’t. So why’d I leave? Well, for one it was monotonous for one. I mean, I still debate leaving rather than just taking a few days off, but it wasn’t a terribly rewarding job. The week leading up to when my contract was up for renewal I was debating sticking around, and in the end I think I decided I simply wasn’t learning anything that I would be able to apply to future occupations. Also, I felt like the working environment wasn’t for me, dominated as it was by middle aged makciks.

Which brings me to the next point. I’ve been procrastinating for awhile now. A few months back, a few weeks after I completed my exams, I suddenly faced the anxiety of the rest of my life. I think I’ve mentioned that it feels as though I’ve been sleepwalking through most of my life, and most of my life decisions weren’t made by me. It feels as though I’ve stumbled from secondary school to junior college to national service to university, and once that cycle ended I felt this enormous sense of loss. There was an enormous amount of freedom in not choosing and finding the future unwritten I felt as though I were paralysed by choice.

I started writing resumes and job applications, but that trapped me for awhile as well. Looking over my attempts at writing everything felt futile. My school records were unremarkable, I had no significant work experience, and the idea of my being able to offer anything to an employer seemed laughable. I was the one who wanted something from them, i.e. a job. Furthermore, it didn’t feel like I could “sell” myself without lying or at least greatly exaggerating my own capabilities, which from my own experience I know to be limited. I can’t help but feel like I mess up whenever I start a new endeavour, like it takes me forever to learn to do anything or that I try to take the easy road as far as possible and when something difficult pops up I avoid it or shift responsibility. I feel incompetent and there’s been very little to disprove that notion I’m afraid.

I feel like I’m getting better now though. I’ve mostly gotten over the anxiety, and the fear of fucking up has been subsumed into the greater fear of not having any means of making a living. In trying to sell myself I’m doing my best to not overaggrandise (or embiggen, if you like) myself while simultaneously not selling myself short. Sitting here at two in the morning I realise that the best way to go about this would be to revert to old ways and approach this as though it were an exam. Find a private place, do my reading, do my research, and write like hell. Get by with a little help from my friends if necessary.

If all this feels self-indulgent, I suppose it is. I don’t tend to write a lot about personal matters because it feels trite and insignificant. Looking over what I’ve written it is trite and insignificant, but I’ve always been better able to express myself through the written/printed word, it’s catharsis, an exorcism of the most intimate kind. Maybe none of this will make sense when I wake up, maybe this entry will be gone. I think it was necessary to have this tactile connection with my keyboard.

Peace.

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