Some cheerful thoughts for New Year’s Eve… On waking today I don’t feel – and I never ever do – any great desire to leap into action. I’ve always been someone who wanted to stay in the warm cocoon of sleep.
Over the years I’ve sometimes thought about why this might be, but oft-times I’ve just left it at that; the bald but somewhat uncomfortable fact that, for me, being asleep is often preferable to being awake.
One of the reasons that I might feel this struck me today, as I returned to the cosiness of our bed after a morning ablute; my dream life might well be – or at least feel – more interesting than my real life.
Over the years I’ve struggled with depression, which seems to afflict much of our family. And I suspect I’m dangerously close to a bout at present. Some of it has to do with unrealised ambitions. And in that respect dream life might sometimes be more ‘satisfying’ than real life?
Although that said, I’ve frequently had what might be termed ‘performance anxiety’ dreams, which seem very much related to real life. These, by the way, are very non-Freudian; musical not sexual. My musical dream life is quite like my real life! But my sexual dream life? Well, I’ll leave a veil over that for now.
Anyway, this is all a bit gloomy, I must confess. And I’m not all that comfortable writing it, and potentially sharing it online. And sadly so too is the second part of this post.
Having turned 50 I find my eyesight has seriously deteriorated. Where once I only needed one pair of glasses, I now clearly need two. But I still only have the one! This situation is causing me a lot of annoyance and inconvenience.
From trying to work on the computer, to hobbies such as reading or figure painting, and even stuff like driving, a lot of everyday stuff that was easy is now a right arse-ache.
I’m not going to dwell on it here and now. But failing vision also feels like a metaphor for this stage of my life. Surrounded by the clutter of numerous unfulfilled ambitions, vision failing, it all seems part of a single larger malaise!
Anyway, there it is. I have confessed and, I hope, unburdened myself a little. Is that any good? Any real use? I have no idea, and, frankly, doubt it. But it feels both necessary and inevitable. So there it is.
One final thought… will these circumstances lead to any change in my lifestyle? Should I ditch some of the hobbies that are now so much harder, like model making or figure painting? And what about music? Is it time to abandon unfulfilled dreams? Scary thoughts. But unavoidable, I fear.
The truth is, or so I currently conceive, that I’ll probably just continue, as I always have, to roll onwards, a tumbleweed soul, self-soothing with mild pleasures. And unwilling or unable to go that necessary extra mile, in pursuit of possibly illusory dreams/ambitions.
That’s life, eh? Or rather, my life. Ho hum…
FOOTNOTE:
Later the same day…
And I feel much better. Could this simply be due to co-codamol? Or did laying that psychic coil, that spiritually black stool, have a purging effect?
My mood change might well be ascribed to bipolar manic depressive tendencies. I.e. part of the problem, albeit the more pleasant part. But I’m just grateful that I no longer feel so Eeyore-ish!
And gratitude – being grateful for what I have, rather than lamenting what I lack – is, I think, a key piece in the happier personality puzzle.
Jonny Otis, with Shuggie and Delmar ‘Mighty Mouth’, are helping, belting’ out thoze blooze!