Tuesday, June 19, 2012


So here's a bit of a strange post, which I should apologise in advance. It's ramblings that I really should get out of my head so I can get back to being a functioning human being.

I have never been one to pursue things that can run.
Melbourne, I pursue as a dream. Melbourne cannot exactly run (unless, of course, the city is made out of nomadic robots who are currently in a two-hundred-year-old hibernation), and I like the concept of it. It's something I don't want to let go of any time soon.
London, I pursue as a dream, because I want to escape overseas and experience life from a different hemisphere.
But other things, I'm not really the best at pursuit. I second-guess myself, others, my skills, my attributes, others' opinions, and I let that form my actions. There is a small part of me, whenever someone tells me my story needs to be changed, that sets fire to the writer idea. A small part of me that, when deadlines stack up and I feel about ready to explode, that I'll never be able to cope, never be able to juggle. Something inside me, whenever I am interested in someone, makes me say that they wouldn't ever be interested and I find myself not giving things over, not allowing myself to be happy or to risk anything, because the chances I could get hurt are high and I don't want that hurt.
I don't like to let others hurt me, intentionally or not. I can deal with inflicting pain on myself quite easily - if Melbourne and London and writing and love was taken away by my own choosing, I would get over that easily. I would say, fair enough, you've got this other thing in store instead. But if the hibernating nomadic robots decided to wake up from their excessively long slumber, and if I put my words on the line to have them rejected, and if I put my heart on the line for it to be squashed, I couldn't cope with that. I find a way to bring it back on myself and never really experience the anger or disappointment I should, because it's my fault again.
Which is stupid, really.
I don't take risks often, and I probably never will. I am emotional, but I don't let emotion make my decisions for me now. It used to, and it didn't work out for me - it led to a whole lot of disappointment and a whole lot of regrets. Reason judges things for me, except I wonder - is it too harsh, too rational?
I don't know.
When I was in my first year of uni, I applied to go to London to study for a year. I got my hopes up for that far too early, and due to lack of money that failed miserably. Reason, rather than emotion, sent me home for a year. I had no home, no friends nearby, and no money - it was the only choice. Reason sent me to Brisbane this year rather than Melbourne, and I so wish at times I was in Melbourne now, if only to get it out of my system. But Brisbane would let me finish my degree in a shorter time than Melbourne would, so it was only normal to go there. But I could go, eventually.
I want to say that right now I was looking at life rationally and taking stock of good and bad. Right now, I am taking stock of bad only, and I believe my rational self is trying to dissuade me from doing something or other that could hurt me. I can't write the novel, I can't take a risk. And this will probably be better in the long run. It usually is.
So the risks in my life at the moment? Until I know for sure, I'm staying firmly on the ground. 
I was not born to be a hunter; I always seem to come back to that. 

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