6 December 2011
There’s all this stuff typed out (and written), somewhere around here. My eyes start wondering around for the first time in a long time, and they spot nothing because everything is just the same, but with a thicker layer of dust. If I move my hand a few inches to the left, I could touch my ‘biniş kartı’–if only I could. If I swing my chair around 180º…
Hey! There’s all that stuff. Maybe I should reach down… have a little look through…
The phone rings and I throw myself and the chair around to answer it. A friend of mine is telling me about a job in a bottle shop that I may be able to get. The conversation rolls along to a recent drama with a friend, that I partially created. How the fuck could I create something so fucking trivial?
Wasn’t it less than four weeks ago that my life revolved around the opposite of these trivial things?
Now I scrunch my face up, like getting that inevitable vaccination, at the thought of just looking at my pile of memorabilia from moments ago.
I was pushed forward and out by triviality in 2010.
In 2011, I discovered I can push myself towards non-triviality–but what is that? I know I found something. If only I had a way to relive it… somehow…
The plastic frame of the chair creeks as it turns around. Wincing, I gaze down at the pile of journals.