Sweet Malaise

I sit here and I wonder how I will overcome this January mini-funk.  Another sunset out the window over the harbour.  Another day in which getting out of bed proved difficult, getting motivated to work on certain items basically a non-starter, and all the topics in the monthly group meeting met with stunning internal indifference. 

The end of the first month of the final year?  It begins to look that way, at least in mind, and no doubt stoked by the oysters and the scotch and the discussions with Mr. McNeil about other options yesterday night.  Becoming a proper publican sounds like quite the dream, though (sadly) almost certainly too risky to throw in all the marbles to achieve.  But, still, an idea that intrigues.  Options are what you need to cast the mind about for at the moment, and a move to the countryside on the water might not be such a bad one. 

I feel the need for change growing though - like a dull, anonymous neoplasm that seems sure to continue expanding, until a breaking point.  Poor analogy, perhaps, but call it a dull *something* anyway.  Dull and persistent and a reminder - it is later than you think and life has to be broader than the view from these windows. 

What new path will you eventually find that will provide the proper inspiration?  It remains to be seen, as ever, the next day and month and year all open questions that defy prediction.  There is, as there has been for some time, a freedom to choose, but to choose what?  To start where?  What is the goal and how to reach it - what is the plan and who needs to be a part of it - what is the way in which to live the rest of the days, until such time as you tire of that, inevitably, and seek out again for something different. 

Incessant is this thinking about change.  Incessant is the fear that comes with seeking out new opportunities that may prove worse, but incessant is the non-motivation to manage that change from within the current sphere and do what must seem to others to be so much easier. 

It is a spiral.  That makes me think of Kashi's spiral, in whose form my path is leading, toward the twin goals of joy and peace.  How can that memory not make me smile?  How can the idea of those twin concepts, sought-after in ever further reaches of the world, not guide the thinking forward?  Is there a word for nostalgia about the future?  Not sure, but comforting as always to think it is not a new thought, that google throws up evidence of music and exhibitions targeted at the very notion.  And so we keep dreaming in that light.

Have been waiting a week for this night, and here it is.  Off to get some cheesecake at the Sweet Hereafter on the Inch suggestion, which although mocked is a grand one, and fitting...  More anon.  Oh, for a penny to know the thoughts that will be crossing the mind 11 months hence.  Just the briefest glimpse.  We will just have to wait it out.   

A Prayer for Holy Willie, and for me?

Another year, another missed posting on Rabbie's Day, although it cannot be said it was not well celebrated.  (Not sure of that double-negative either, which is now a triple one with this addition, argh...)  The Ledaig, the fixed tartan bowties, the hot-tub before and toast of rum, the lovely memorized rendition of the title poem (the hilariously hypocritical last two verses copied below), the many other jokes and toasts and haggis and neeps and cigar and rain and ocean and vodka/water and garlic fingers and Guinness last of all, oh aye.

Yes. Yes indeed.  Funny how a date sits out there, a Saturday Burns night.  Then along it comes.  Quiet then riotous and then slightly disappointing in the Immortal Memory delivery but then not really when you recall the Fornicator delivery and reminiscing again about the year in Glasgow, now 14 (!) long winters gone.  The point has passed when that number was capable of surprise, but it is something, when you consider how much closer to the end 14 more will put things. 

Not that much has not been done in the intervening years.  So much.  And every year seems to bring with it more new and shiny places, and ever better understanding of how to handle things on the road.  Although remember the hostel in Moscow?  Not enough time and no companions and sleeping through the days and guilty as the moon at the charge of being "so serious" by the receptionist.

So what is the tonic?  Keeping the Irish lessons front of mind, it still seems the road.  Ever the road.  Something new to look out on and force the hand of course.  But without the baggage of the recent work hanging over you on the inevitable return, without the formal business concerns of where the next files of increasingly less interest are going to come from, without the same characters year over year who have treated you so well, without the infernal demand to be busy.

In a word, escape.  And with 6 minutes left on the Alderney library timer, time to craft another one in words to bridge us to the next point at some time in future, when more sand will have run out.  Briefly.  Today was the day in which I filled out another global application and butchered another cover letter, this time for the easterly isle of Barbados and Cave Hill, and paid fifty bucks for the privilege of getting the signature there on time.  Ridiculously.  Followed by the purchase of the Caribbean isle book that should offer similar fun in daydreaming a life for the next few years down there while you regroup and reorganize. 

Maybe not the best timing, with the young nephews on the way (and spare a quick word for Ned Robertson, ushered into this world just after Burns night of course) and everyone growing older and possibilities developing as we lead into summer.  But needs must, as the saying goes.  And there is a joy in the prospect of an envelope wending its way down to be opened by an unknown person on a far-off island and maybe, just maybe, the flop of the first domino that may reach all the way back and provoke some more incredulity. 

It is fun to think of all the different paths that might be.  Dream on, then.  Thumbs held as we wait to see what is to come.

Cave Hill, West Indies?

More on this anon.  Another Friday afternoon January find amidst the mounting scepticism of the long-term nature of this gig that might offer an alternative.  You know, hilariously, it just might.  Further consideration to be given over the course of some Burns night Scotch, and beyond.

"I just want to have fun..."

Haha, I have heard that one before.  Quite the storm day, if you recall, cancelling both work (with an amazing early morning email) and the teaching of the Energy Law class that has grown to be rather tedious.  Following the non-acknowledgment of the application to the school back in September, I would say this is the last season for it.  Time to move forward with new items, and I have a growing sense that you may not be sticking around the city for 2015 anyway.  Slowly being isolated from requests for work, although when you get a chance it is always nice to bring a little value added with a few good "catches."

But.  Although new matters seem to be arising out-of-province, to date no pick-up in terms of work coming across the desk.  There are some lingering files to see through that will keep you somewhat occupied, particularly in the first half of the year.  Plus you have to think the history allows some goodwill and flexibility through the first few months to get you to Brazil and back.  Those months might offer some clarity over what to do on the "travel companion" front.  It seems to be moving a little quickly after last night's uber-classy session at Pizza Corner, with the Cruzan rum and the like, and the guys taking pictures of the cartoon jazz characters, and a first trip inside on Clyde street to seek shelter from the storm.

Hungover in the morning, and ridiculous puking upon standing up in the toilet as well, having not eaten much other than popcorn from the afternoon on.  But is it also a hangover from the trip as well, clinging on to having the girl to yourself and getting along swimmingly throughout.  Soon things will begin happening, and maybe the call to try to find another destination down South, sooner rather than later at that, is a good one.  Last February, when the first of the texts was sent from the now-closed Palace, there was uncertainty as to what might happen next.  Imagine trying to predict what did unfold?  Far too crazy to contemplate.  What to do but roll along with it, and look forward to the randomness that is to come.

Dilemmas and Distractions and Belgium Diamonds

One week ago today it was that you left Zanzibar.  How already distant in the mind, and yet how difficult to focus back in on those tasks and on the life that waits for you here on your return.  The comfortable bed, the welcoming apartment, the functioning car, the office with its view back into the harbour rather than toward the horizon.  Add in a night of predictable revelry, of stories, of plans for the coming nights, of drunken messages unfulfilled and so on.

All as if you were never there, at the top of Kili or on the plains of the Serengeti or on the windswept beaches of the Indian ocean.  All of the planning and practice hiking and speculation and wondering - all in the past.  Not surprising it takes a bit of getting readjusted, both to the pace of life and the type of decisions to be made.  And, of course, the being back on your own, without a constant travel companion to worry over and muse about.  I am sure that has some bearing on the desire to figure out what is next, and also to blame no doubt is the lack of stringent deadlines to be met to keep you occupied.

Where to from here, it is hard not to be distracted...  And hard to focus on the work that could be done at hand to cement a future that has seemed, always, like one not quite in line with what you want while, always, being - well - close enough, for lack of a better expression.  Close enough to pay the bills, offer the requisite freedom in terms of time and money and comfort and intellectual stimulation.  But perpetually leaving you with questions to answer as the years recede and the places visited (and recorded herein and in fb albums gone past) mount.

So - such a favourite word - what does it all mean, where is it all going, what are you going to dream up to do next?  Because that is all it takes, the idea.  I feel like the next one(s) is/are important.  Keep thinking for now, enjoy the annual Burns commemoration and see about maximizing the use of the hot tub as you wait to see what happens.  To see what inspiration strikes, or falls into place, or leaves you guessing. 

2014 promises to be a fascinating, eventful one.  Don't let her down, eh?  Go big.

Missed Facts and Blocked Promises

Well, well, well... home sweet home after a crazy day of flying from Zanzibar to Nairobi to Brussels to Montreal to YHZ with the lovely A.  Fabulous trip that warrants more than the brief report to be provided here, but the journal covers some of those thoughts.  How to summarize it - from Kilimanjaro to the crazy Safari of Juma and Dennis to thoughts of the future in Zanzibar.  Where life could go and where things might lead...  such a wonderfully crazy whirlwind world.  Back in the office as if it never happened, except for the tan and the memories and the photographs to be reviewed and distilled into a summary.  Nothing too crucial or stressful to return to and the sleep wonderfully restful in your "own" bed after the camping and the touring through the TZ options.  Everything seems as you left it.

Now the thoughts shift to catching up on a few files which seem a bit fresher for having left them, and planning for January events like the Robert Burns and the Sip and Shuck and who to attend such events with and what other ideas to incorporate into the thoughts for the next few weeks.  Great to feel so rejuvenated, so healthy and refreshed and satisfied following another trip so well taken.  Nice not to be exhausted and returning to a manic schedule, and so 2014 already looks to be pretty golden.  Keep it up.  See how things shape up through the weekend and beyond.  As ever, excited to see what happens next.