Luke | 
06 15th, 2008| 
I have spent most of the day in bed. The jobs are piling up and while my distractions are few I seem to create them so I can avoid everything. Right now I don’t want to go to bed, I don’t want to do any work, I don’t want to return calls, do my washing, be accountable, or really communicate. Do I want to exsit? Well I don’t want to not exist, so sure.
I feel the sharp pangs of contrast at the moment. My entire life has hopped back on the roller coaster of highs and lows and I’m not even sure I remember how to ride it so that I have fun along the way.
I was talking to Dan earlier this evening and commented that like he, I felt very much like I was treading water. His reply came swiftly…
D: “But you’ve got the place, the job and the boy?”
L: “… and I don’t even feel close to complete”
D: “Does anyone ever?”
I really really hope that there is more to life than this. Despite “doing well” for myself I feel so hollow at the moment and I really can’t put my finger on the driving factor behind it.
Moving out of home has been a big step for me. I love my family to bits, as they me, but at some point you have to stretch out (or so society would have you believe). My stretching has been eventual but now finds me sleeping in (typing to you from) my first queen-size bed in a quaint suburb I know little about. I love the new place, so far the rapport with the flat mates has been stellar and yesterday we warmed the house (though the recent cold-snap has me believing otherwise).
Perhaps I’m just feeling way outside my comfort zone (which is a good thing), but something tells me there’s more to it than that. Right now I just want reassurance that I’m doing ok with my life, my job, etc. But that reassurance isn’t coming from any extrinsic sources anymore. At long last, Luke (me) has to look within and find his core, his centre, his intrinsic drive that he (my life) is worth waking up for, taking notice of and steering in a direction (wherever the wind takes me).
I’m hoping to find some passion quick and fast because this emptiness is killing me softly. And yet, there is poetry there, for what was there before the Big Bang? Emptiness.
I’m purging. And I don’t think I’m quite done yet…