I don't think I've ever been good at dealing with life. Infancy - a blur, Childhood - a mirth-filled mythology of imaginary companions and places yet few real ones, Adolescence - the eventual horrible awakening, and the frantic scrapings at getting back to what I had. Now I'm almost an adult, I'm slowly coming, subconsciously and consciously, to the conclusion that I won't really get that back again. Everything I've done during this terrible period has essentially been to bring me back to that dreaming little place, I think. This blog, as I've said was an attempt like any other. I'm also starting to think that a part of growing up is learning to trade in those grandiose dreams for more sustainable pleasures - Milton was wrong in my opinion, happiness is most likely something intrinsic and set in stone once we are a certain age. You can't make a heaven out of this hell we live in, but with my antidepressants, my books and my video games, I can at least fool myself temporarily until sweet sleep settles in again. Going off track here, I like how in Greek Mythology, Hupnos (latinised=Hypnos), Sleep, was the twin brother of Thanatos, Death. I spend a large amount of time these days sleeping - perhaps maybe 16 hours a day. When I'm not sleeping, I'm praying for its brother, or recording the remnants of my excursions into the Dreamlands.
Back on track again, I'd like to say that I feel that anything I haven't had before I surely won't have in the future - what I mean by this, is that if I don't show any sign of having the beginnings of skills, I most likely won't attain those skills later on. Social skills for one. I've spent so long in my own little worlds I don't really know how to react to things. I don't even have a fully formed personality - mainly what I do and say is either out of habit, because it's to do with my ego (such as this post), or because I'm chasing the past again. The next thing I'd say I probably shouldn't be too hopeful about is romance, closely related to social skills. I won't have my first kiss until years after most people have had there's. As you can probably imagine I don't flirt well, because I simply seize up when I realise that things are real - anything that snaps me back from my usual dissociative state isn't going to end well.
But I have some hope, as the post's title eludes to. Work, hellish as it shall be, will distract me from the abyss that is life. When I'm not working, I can be reading. And when I'm not reading, I can be sleeping. As long as I don't wish for anything more, as long as I don't start devising all these stupid plans for attaining my heaven again, I should be able to palliate my pain. Is this what ordinary people do? Is this what they do when they give up their millionaire fantasies for an office job, two kids and a house in the suburbs? I wonder. When I get the time I shall write a less rambling post on what I am currently obsessing over: Eternal Recurrence.
As a final word I'd like to draw something to your attention: do you know how easy it was for me to write this? It took me barely any time at all, though upon reading it again I definitely doubt it is up to standard. But still, it just goes to show how easy I find it to write about myself. I try to hide it with a lot of self-deprecation, but deep down I'm a straight-out narcissist. Not that I care much.