Monday, October 17, 2005
Creeping Doubts
Picture a one-legged man dragging a dead horse through a wet muddy path with nothing on the horizon except bleak, flat planes.
That was my day.
I amazed myself by even getting to work. When I finally dragged my carcass out of my pit I looked in the mirror and the view was shocking. Red-eye syndrome and large dark bags hanging from my eyes stared back at me from the mirror. My head was sore, I was dehydrated and all I wanted to do was sleep.
I got ready and made it to work half an hour late. I really should have booked a half-day or something but my foresight was missing yet again. I got a coffee from the shop and took it into work, sat down and contemplated sleep once again. Would anyone actually notice in this room full of the damned?
By the time I thought it was almost time to go home, I realised it was only lunchtime. I could have cried. I got some soup - it was all I could stomach - and a bottle of water for lunch and waited for the time to approach five o'clock. It felt like an eternity, watching the wee numbers on the bottom left of my monitor. What did I do to deserve this?
I was so tired I couldn't concentrate or summon the will to do anything. Seeds of doubt started to grow and I suddenly found myself unsure about anything to do with the festival book. Are the poems good enough; is it worthwhile; have I gone overboard; could I have done more? That's the biggy - could I have done more? I keep thinking I could have.
Sure I have put everything into the book; passion, committment, an open mind, but I said all that during the writing of Hunting Jack also. Only now after the dust has settled, do I see I could have put in so much more.
So I went to bed thinking there's no rush with the book. It doesn't have to be out on a certain date so until I am happy I keep thinking I'll put it off before turning it in, releasing it into the critical world unready. But I was sure it was ready.
Maybe I'm scared or maybe it's normal paranoia. Maybe it's just because I'm just so damn tired I'm not thinking straight. I could sleep for a week to be honest and I feel like I'm missing things, forgetting stuff and always never quite giving it 100%.
Catch me on a good day though, and I'll tell you the opposite.
That was my day.
I amazed myself by even getting to work. When I finally dragged my carcass out of my pit I looked in the mirror and the view was shocking. Red-eye syndrome and large dark bags hanging from my eyes stared back at me from the mirror. My head was sore, I was dehydrated and all I wanted to do was sleep.
I got ready and made it to work half an hour late. I really should have booked a half-day or something but my foresight was missing yet again. I got a coffee from the shop and took it into work, sat down and contemplated sleep once again. Would anyone actually notice in this room full of the damned?
By the time I thought it was almost time to go home, I realised it was only lunchtime. I could have cried. I got some soup - it was all I could stomach - and a bottle of water for lunch and waited for the time to approach five o'clock. It felt like an eternity, watching the wee numbers on the bottom left of my monitor. What did I do to deserve this?
I was so tired I couldn't concentrate or summon the will to do anything. Seeds of doubt started to grow and I suddenly found myself unsure about anything to do with the festival book. Are the poems good enough; is it worthwhile; have I gone overboard; could I have done more? That's the biggy - could I have done more? I keep thinking I could have.
Sure I have put everything into the book; passion, committment, an open mind, but I said all that during the writing of Hunting Jack also. Only now after the dust has settled, do I see I could have put in so much more.
So I went to bed thinking there's no rush with the book. It doesn't have to be out on a certain date so until I am happy I keep thinking I'll put it off before turning it in, releasing it into the critical world unready. But I was sure it was ready.
Maybe I'm scared or maybe it's normal paranoia. Maybe it's just because I'm just so damn tired I'm not thinking straight. I could sleep for a week to be honest and I feel like I'm missing things, forgetting stuff and always never quite giving it 100%.
Catch me on a good day though, and I'll tell you the opposite.
Colin 4:12 pm