out of the neon sun ~ chapter seven
i embark on many things. i'm sure its a common habit amongst dreamers and imaginers and thinkers, those that spend their waking and sleeping moments pondering the world and the flow around them. an idea comes to us:
"i will make a film!"i will write a book!"i will travel forth to a distant land without a second thought!"i will break someone's heart!"i will quit my job for one short adrenaline shot!"i will run naked through the streets of london!"
and you say you'll do it.
and you'll really mean it.
and every part of you, every atom of your neurology, every speck of blood in your capillaries, every blink of your eyelids... means it. for that moment, your idea is immortal and nothing and no-one stands in the way of it's fruition.
but weeks later you're sitting on a sofa in front of the current best comedy on bbc2 and you remember that you'd forgotten all about it.
things fizzle out. not always from 'chickening out' or being too lazy to finish what you started, but because life happens around your idea and shunts it and closes in on it and muffles it and presses a pillow over its breath until it dies peacefully and silently.
or you just can't afford it.
and its a shame. because that idea was the best you ever had. and if it had happened; you would have something to hold onto. something mentally tangible. a life-changing experience, a period of awe, a moment of genius, a feeling of completion, a yardstick that you measure the rest of your life by. one story that you tell over and over and over again and bore no-one, for you tell it with such joy and love that all around you cheer and believe that they were there too.
we booked our plane tickets yesterday.
fruit plan! fruit!
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