actuality.log


All entries tagged 'chicken'

Sunday, December the 7th, 2008

I could’ve sworn I had some money in Euro lying around the house. I seem to remember exchanging a lot more currency than I ended up needing during my last trip to Germany, but perhaps I’m just misremembering things. Either that, or I’ve lost a bunch of bank notes during the move to my new apartment. Anyway, it’s not like they don’t have ATMs in Paris, which is where I’m spending this week. I reckon it’s going to be interesting—my mom sent me a long list of her favourite places there which she insists I not miss—but more on that later as events warrant it. We now have bigger fish to fry.

As I run around my home tossing things into my trusty campers’ backpack a few hours before my flight, my mind keeps returning to the events of last night. There she was, pressed up to me whispering in my ear even though the obnoxiously loud music in the club had long since given way to much softer and more relaxed background fare. Her slinky cocktail dress which exquisitely accentuated her delicate form did little to sheath the warmth of her body. I remember being transfixed by the way her tongue-piercing glistened under the subdued lights as her mouth moved, and struggling to string coherent sentences together as I drowned in her intoxicating perfume; but her frequent giggles and pouty smiles seemed to suggest I was doing something right.

It took much of the night, but I was finally beginning to feel relaxed and not completely out of my element. Without the blaring music and the smoke, my system wasn’t on constant sensory overload (at least, not the kind that bothered me!) and the setting quickly became a lot more intimate. It stayed that way for a long while—until it eventually evaporated; an inevitability I was bracing myself for the entire time.

I amn’t going to discuss details, but I believe I do need to take up some form of dance lessons. Not for improving the gracefulness of my movements, but to prevent me from getting petrified and retreating into a shell (not to mention arguing to defend my pitiful chickenhood) when being pushed to.

As I sit here amidst this scattering of paper I rummaged through to look for my Euros for the trip, I can’t help but glance at their contents. Much of them are unfinished journal entries over the years, many of which are desperate pleas and pointless grousing, a sizable chunk serving to highlight the complete history of my sexual failures. I seem to be doing the same things over and over expecting dramatic changes in my life. But the events of last evening, this stack of memories strewn about, everything, points to how absurd a notion that is. If I want my situation to change, I need to change too.

First stop, manning up and signing up for dance lessons. For a while now I ain’t had nothin’ twixt my nethers weren’t run on batteries.

Saturday, March the 8th, 2008

The entries on this journal have been noticeably sparse because I have had little to report of late. Unable to make any firm decisions or take any bold steps, I have let my life grind to a complete halt.

It began with not being able to choose between positions—each involving a significant move, and the consequent need to reestablish myself—and has now progressed to something much deeper. At the heart of it, I think it’s just that I don’t find what I do (or at least, what I am groomed to do) very rewarding. As a result, while it appears as though I’m having a hard time picking one particular research option over another, what I’m really struggling with is a more abstract concept.

The fundamental realisation that what you do has little impact on anyone (or anything) outside your little sandbox is a harsh one to grapple with; that your efforts won’t stand the test of time, or elevate the masses. Predictably enough, it is a glimpse of this notion that’s caused me to stall, stripping you of potential reading fodder.

The problem is further exacerbated, for while I wave aside my existing choices recognising this inherent flaw, I am unwilling to take off my metaphorical blinders and explore other options—I am just a big chicken.


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