I haven’t been on here much since I fell into the cycle of mind-numbing routine. Despite having written and shared a few poems recently, they were merely inspired exercises that don’t happen very often. At this point in my life I am living without a higher purpose in life. Sadly, paying my bills is the high point in most months. Outings have been scarce.
Several years ago I was dealing with terrible tenements, while commuting to work and shedding insecurities as a newcomer to the city’s middle class. Three years have passed since, and after countless mistakes (and still making then), arguments, a visit to HR, a few police reports, blacklisting certain areas in the city as undesirable, ditching my social facade and returning to being me, I am finally stable with my job, slightly secure with the way I carry myself, and driving confidently (this bit being important because I gain personal freedom by being mobile). This also means I am in my comfort zone that is fast becoming tedious and unfulfilling.
Soon, I feel like I am stuck in a rut, which was the same feeling I’ve had when I was unemployed. I guess everything comes full circle eventually, and it’s time to break the cycle.
So, I have listed out a few plans this year. I want to acquire new skills such as swimming. I’m beginning to exercise again because driving gave me flabby thighs, and I’ve collected enough interesting stationary to get me started on writing again. Yes, it has come to that unfortunately. I have been crossing to-read books off my list, especially one which I bought two years ago and hadn’t read, until I did and found the writer James McKinnon delightfully talented, he’s a celebrated Canadian journalist by the way, and rousing my mind to the intellectual pleasures of life.
The Red Line is a historical novel filled with intense stories of RAF soldiers who fought in WWII. My reading began slow and sporadic but as the events unravel I couldn’t stop. The colossal misjudgement of RAF leaders, particularly Churchill’s in pursuit of Germany’s defeat resulted in a tragic deaths that the British government tried to bury. But history was eventually righted and the men were honoured for their sacrificy. A heartening novel by John Nichol. Both of those books are non-fiction. And I seem to prefer spending more on non-fiction. Like another novel here. It’s the only book I could find at a bargain sale which I could part my money for. I won’t start reading this yet, because…
I have this to read. Down to two stories left.
And then there’s the Age of Myth by Michael J Sullivan… A fantasy adventure that I’m starting to love. I want to drown my restlessness with books. Books to read books galore!
I know my English has become sort of elementary here. And this post is probably going to be an embarrassment when I read back. But it does not matter. I need to restore myself.