What is dead may never die -

Listen: Glosoli - Sigur Ros

I've been having trouble sleeping lately. Even sleeping for 8-9 hours on weekends doesn't help, because I can't sleep properly again whenever the work week comes around. Could be the weather, could be me worrying too much.

Also, lately - my life has been divided into mostly two things: Things I Want to Do, and Things I Don't Want to Do. Which is basically my life philosophy since I was a little kid, being stubborn like I am, except that recently things I don't want to do have become part of my daily life, because I'm an adult. Wow so deep, much wisdom. But it tires me out, and when weekend finally comes, I find that I really don't feel like doing anything.

I mean, really, I haven't felt this hopeless since - I don't remember. Now whenever someone asks me what I plan to do, I have to give an answer, because normal functional humans have plans. I don't really have any, I just say I do. But I don't really care that I don't have any. I just want to stay in bed and not do anything. Except maybe read and not get disturbed. And have my own time to write. And not have people telling me I should have "plans" and have "goals" and "ambitions". I don't want any of them, although I know I should instead of wasting time.

But to have time to do whatever I want without any plans, or obligation to have a plan - I want it so badly the other night I dreamt I was in some old house with a river behind, with old-fashioned furniture. And someone was there, and he told me, 'We're staying here now, we don't have to do anything or go anywhere'. And I was happy, the kind of contented happy that I haven't felt in quite a while. The kind of happiness you get when you're at peace with yourself, and you're not worried about something, and you're perfectly sure someone isn't going to ask you to do something, or ask you your plans for something - because you will be left alone to do whatever you want. That is happiness I haven't had since uni. And I miss it, really badly.

This leads me to think of Plath's The Bell Jar (again, because I love that book so muchly) and the fig tree -

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

What do I want? I want to sleep and to be left alone. But then there's always something to plan for.