Friday, 8 September 2017
It’s half seven in the evening as I write this, and the only thing I have done today that could really be classed as an “achievement” is eating a giant steak and ale pie - with mash.
The only reason I can even count that as an achievement is because I was raised to believe that finishing a plate of food deserves high praise and cries of “Didn’t you do well!”. When in fact, I have performed an act of gross over-indulgence, deserving only of mild alarm.
But now, as the dark evening sets in, to rub it in my face that I’ve done nothing with the daylight hours, I feel ashamed.
Real Talk! (I've always wanted to say that.) My life is a constant battle between, on the one hand, wanting to be quite successful and have lots of people notice me and, on the other, constant boredom and tiredness.
Thing is, I reckon I could be pretty awesome if I put a bit of effort in. I don’t have a problem with underestimating my potential. It’s the execution that I find tricky.
I frequently daydream about winning an Oscar, writing the next Harry Potter, presenting Blue Peter, or outing a terrorist ring for a major newspaper - the usual.
But then, I remember - those things aren’t for the lazy and sleepy.
I blame TV. And sofas. And beds. If none of those things existed I’d be the prime minister, probably.
Oh, and alcohol - that goes without saying.
Sometimes, I think about my death-bed. What will I think as I lie there, contemplating my life?
(Hopefully nothing to be honest. I aim to be pumped full of drugs and then to drift off on a happy, delusional cloud. But that sort of honesty gets in the way of my point.)
Will I care about all the achievements that I failed to achieve? Will I look back and think - if only I’d tried a bit harder, been less lazy, I could have lived my dreams.
Or will I just think - sure, I didn’t get much done, but it wasn’t that bad. I didn’t hurt anyone, I went to some pretty good restaurants and had a few decent holidays.
I really wish I knew the answer because, if it’s the later, then fuck it, I’ll give up the minimal effort I put in now and attempt to live the easiest life possible.
But what if it’s the former and I die miserable?
Sometimes, I think I might want to have children and then foist my unfulfilled dreams onto them. Because, if you push something out your vaj, that’s automatically achieving something, isn’t it? And then I can chill out.
Or is that not how it works?