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Archive for July, 2007

I just finished reading “How to be Good” by Nick Hornby.  His other books are funny and entertaining, but this one just left me feeling depressed.  I could almost relate to the main character in the book – the narrator, this time a woman, with the feeling that life is just about survival because there’s nothing better out there.  The feeling of “what’s the point?”, “why am I doing this” but at the same time “what else is there?”.

The sun is shining, which usually cheers me.  But all I can think of are the tedious things that need doing: like trying to get my daughter’s car going again (it’s broken down just after she gets her restricted licence); making an unwanted journey to Wellington, a city I can’t stand, to drop off someone at the inter-island ferry terminal; looking through bills to see which I haven’t paid; remembering to pay car registration on Monday for my car; even the mundane having to fill my car with petrol and oil and hope it works; and the tedious weeks ahead of me worrying about those things that need repairing; the never-ending housework; the total lack of enjoyment in just about everything I do.

I felt like writing to S, but I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear more about my depressed life.  My other online friend, J, has abandoned me finally.  To his credit, he stayed friends with me for much longer than I expected (he is nearly half my age) but he’s finally found a woman who will accept him and love him, mood swings and all.  I’m happy for him, but just saddened at my own pathetic life.  I go through bouts of self-loathing.

Sometimes these short periods when I have breakfast are my only respite from the real world – just a few minutes to try and forget about the dullness that is my life.  Then it’s back into it with as much energy as I can muster (which isn’t much).

Don’t read “How to be good”.  It’s definitely not his best.

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I did my very first solo belly dancing performance last week.  It went well.  I felt surprisingly relaxed and confident and smiled my way through (what I thought was) a flawless performance.  The people around me at the table complimented me and the teacher’s mother (who used to teach) said it was good too – I saw her smiling throughout it, so it felt great.  I would have performed it again to the public downstairs in the restaurant if asked, I was feeling so good about it.  As it was, the dance was in front of other dancers, their friends and partners in a private upstairs part of the restaurant – bad enough considering dancers are each others’ worst critics.  The evening was a good one and when we got up and danced together it didn’t take long to flake out from heat and thirst.  No doubt I’ll still be nervous before the next performance but even my teacher says she gets nervous beforehand and she’s a lovely dancer.  A group of dancers from another town did their same tired old routine and I felt superior from branching out into solos.  I would hate to be stuck in the same dance to the same music for every belly dancing dinner.  One of them dances particularly beautifully in an understated way and deserves to be parted from the rest and performing solos.

Well that’s the performance part of today’s ramble.

The rest is my feeling of withdrawal which I put down partly to my inclination to hibernate during winter and partly to my withdrawal from my previous life at my old work.  I no longer see old colleagues and miss seeing some of the people and when you see them again briefly on the street or somewhere else, it’s not the same interraction.  Because I don’t see them I feel like I have purposely withdrawn into my own dark private world.  And because I work later than at the old job, the evenings are shorter and I have less time to do what I used to.  I’ve lost touch with people – even online friends.  I read the emails of newer friends but don’t feel particularly inclined to answer them.  I sort of feel there’s no point as I have no time to spend with them in ‘real’ life.  It all feels a little confusing right now and I feel a little guilty.

Time is short.  I have much to do and this afternoon I have to go out.  The weekends are much too short to be able to catch up with anything.

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