Saturday, 6 November 2010


I can't get full and I can't cheer up. Periods.

At breakfast Virgil asks, "Isn't there anything you would like to do? Anything at all? Don't you have any ambitions, any ideas or projects you would like to get started?"

I read love, concern and frustration in his expression.

"I would help you, you know," he adds. "Even if it was just something small."

I fill my mouth with the last of my food so that I don't have to answer immediately. Then I say thickly through sausage, "I can't answer that question right now. It's complicated."

I chew a bit more, swallow through the lump in my throat, and say: "I'm not entrepreneurial like you." I cannot meet his eye.

There was a time when I was really inspired by what I was doing. It was in the last year of my first degree. That was 13 years ago. Then I think further back to being 19, in the final year of my dad's illness, when I wasn't able to think of starting anything that would finish after he died. That he was going to die was a certainty and the awareness of it was a curtain across the future. I think "I'd like to have a family," but I don't say it because I don't know if it's true.

I am tired of doing nothing. I am tired of doing the wrong thing.

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