It’s Always Better At Home

I write this post from my Northern home, the only place in the country I will ever consider to be my real home. I hadn’t been home for about six weeks, so I had definitely been looking forward to this, but – of course – it all rushes by so quickly. Three days gone in the blink of an eye.

I travelled up early on Saturday morning and have spent the past few days in a combination of working and relaxing. I definitely feel happier here, but it is always filled with the melancholy inevitability that it just won’t last. And it won’t. I cannot live here, as there is no work for me. I tried, it was a disaster. And, to be honest, my family were no real help. In fact, they, especially my mum, didn’t believe in me and thought it wasn’t possible.

I have proved that it is possible, but the question I have to answer is whether it is all worth it. Yes, I have made some money, but here I am in my 27th year, still with no possibility of ever affording my own house, no proper friends any more, no girlfriend, in a rather peculiar household arrangement that I despise.

It may seem stupid to say it, as I am still young really, but time is most definitely running out. To afford a house any time soon, I need to be earning double what I currently do, and my income needs to be rising higher and higher each year, if I really am to think I am a real success in life. Anyone can run a two-bit business and make small pocket change out of it.

But that’s when I start despairing, and write posts like my last one. Just what is it all about? What is the actual point? We exist purely because we must, and ending it all is not an option, really. We exist because if we decided to stop our existence, we would cause immense grief to the people who know we are alive.

It’s all just so stupid. But what option do we have?

We exist because we must.

Fortunately, while I am at home, such morbid thoughts are abated for a while. I can occupy myself with busyness and entertaining my family members and doing “useful”  (relatively speaking, since not doing them would not make the universe stop existing) things that make me feel good. As well as playing the piano, which I absolutely love.

So it is always better at home. But like all good things, they must end. Apparently, we are told we must only enjoy good things in small doses, and suffer the rest of the time, so we learn to appreciate the good stuff more.

That is what we told by those above us – who, by the way, generally enjoy a good life 90% of the time – to keep us in our place. Because only a small portion of people can be happy all the time. Us suffering the drudgery and dullness of life is is a necessary condition of them being happy. Capitalism is a zero sum game.

It’s better at home by distraction. Distraction from mundanity.

But mundanity, as it always must, shall soon resume.

It’s Never A Good Time

There never does seem to be a right moment to blog. When I’m busy, it’s no good. When I’m not busy, I start to feel guilty about sitting idle, and then quickly manage to find something to do. When I’m angry – which happens a lot these days – I don’t feel right. When I’m depressed, I fear writing about it only makes things worse. When I’m happy (a precious rarity!), writing about it would distract me from the happiness, and probably only encourage me to overanalyse and forget why I’m meant to be happy.

What an introduction. I remember when I wrote my dissertation, which majored quite heavily on the role of blogging, I did a little background research, which found that the average blogger was a pretty depressed individual. It is a “melancholy medium”. It feels right to me. Confirmation bias, perhaps, but I think those of us who live lives of sweetness and light probably don’t have the right character to write all about it.

But right now, it’s not a good time. I’m generally feeling a bit sorry for myself because I have a cold which hasn’t even got the decency of being a real cold. I might be tempting fate here, but after three days of coughing and having that permanent “just about to sneeze” feeling behind my nose, I’m getting more than a little fed up. I keep wondering whether I’m at the end of it or just the beginning. If it would get worse, at least I would know it can only improve from here. But it just keeps being the same, for 3.5 days now. Irritating.

And life goes on, of course. Business has been generally shit this week. There’s something about the Easter holiday that makes everything go rubbish. I remember it being crap this time last year too. And the jobs I have had have all been irritating in their own special way. As well as harbouring a boatload of customers who waste my time and aren’t worth much.

I need them though. I have a love-hate relationship with my customers of late. All the good ones never come back. The bad ones just keep annoying me. There is one particular one at the moment who paid me double to come out on a Sunday to inspect their laptop. I quoted it, and said I’d have to take it away. They agreed. Every weekend since then, with this being the third, they have arranged and then cancelled my visit to return with the goods at the last minute. I know people aren’t like me, but I just can’t understand: you either want your computer fixing or you don’t. If they didn’t want it fixing, they shouldn’t have called me in the first place, let alone pay me extra for an unusual Sunday call out. All a bit weird, as I like to say.

Then there is the constant depression of being here. I am totally fed up of living with my housemate, but there is no escape. That definitely is never a good time.

But life in general is just never a good time either. I am sick and tired of waiting for good news. For years now, so many of them slipping away in front of me, I am in a perpetual state of “waiting for something good to happen”. The upshot really is that it never does happen, and even when it does, it makes you happy for 5 minutes, and then you start hoping for the next good thing to happen.

Honestly, life is utterly tedious. I have often wondered… I would love to have children, but then it is for purely selfish reasons. There is, actually, no good reason to bring another person into this world. A world of constant suffering, constant struggle, and increasing pressure to spend all your time slaved to the economy without ever really enjoying it.

No. Life has absolutely no purpose whatsoever. This suddenly dawned upon me the other day, when I was in one of my moods. It doesn’t matter if it has intrinsic “purpose” once you’re alive, whereby you can ascribe happiness, and love, and family, and other values to it, and pretend that they make it have some purpose.

There is no purpose at all. There is no extrinsic value to life even existing in the first place. It is a quirk of biology, a twist of fate (which doesn’t exist), and chromosomes, and DNA and other weird stuff that just so happened. It is all a nonsense really, an utter nonsense, and we pretend it all has some meaning, some value, and that we must enjoy it to make it worthwhile.

No. None of it means anything. In 1 billion years time, life will probably not exist anywhere in the universe. And yet the universe will still continue, pointessly, fruitlessly, counter-intuitively.

It’s never a good time around me, I can assure you of that.