I thought it might be a good plan for me to go home. But it is 2am. And Minnie has just bust a gut to get her inflatable mattress from the loft. I was about to spend £60 on an Uber home. But honestly nah. What’s the point in spending New Year with an old dear friend if you sod off before the morning? It’s because they have kids. Maybe it’s worth putting up with the early morning.
Kids. I like the two that Min has done. Some of my friends do good kids. Others I can take or leave, but yeah surely that’s the parents and a delayed reaction. I like the kids because I like both the parents and I’m not inclined to do that shit to myself so I’m mildly in awe of people who do. I’ve been running headlong into a wall for decades. Other people have somehow found headspace to breed. I envy them. I’d love to have continued my wonderful mad parents. But no way with the way it has gone for me lifewise.
New year in Twickenham. We went to the garden and burnt stuff. Rhys made a little incinerator out of bricks. All my shit for a year, and this year was big big big big big big big big big big big big big (sorry needed to express that) shit. This year. No longer. Dead.
A hope. A moment.
Something honestly something something that would finally shift things. Concrete. Completed. Holding my own and holding it well. And then it went to shit. And I can never talk about it publicly.
So yeah, I burnt things with Minnie. Nothing gained by holding onto things. Onwards onwards forever onwards.
There’s power in ritual.
So much, I burnt. Sides for an audition that how did that not land? Bits of ritual towards stunted hopes… This year has been hard to make sense of. It is comforting to find myself doing a job I did twice before COVID. Somehow, maybe, the work we do pays back over time.
God I’m tired though. And tomorrow morning I’m gonna get woken up way too early by Minnie’s girls. I’m in the middle of the living room. Best get my head down.
AlBarclay 