October now nearly passed in its cold spells and gloomy days has brought back the sense of dependence on what one has and let people feel again the weight of personal circumstance. Some it's rendered appreciative, some weary and I found my self, once more, reevaluating to the core, all that I've known.
Again. As if it were all I knew how to do.
Betting on my ability to carry on progressively without settling for a place in a life but mine.
Rolling on, no name, no account carried forward.
Shedding skin and gearing up for the challenges to come.

I used to call flying a self bestowed purpose. I was enthusiastic to accept a direction I couldn't dispute, as non less fallible in matters of my soul but my self had conjured it.
And I'm grateful for the course. I have a track to navigate and the simple and the more precarious matters of life too become but elements calculated till an appropriate heading is obtained.
Finally a goal well desired.
Life I chose, not a purpose. Purpose is a utopia, innately yearned sense of appropriateness only achieved asleep, dreaming.
With the focus and energy and the achievements gained, burdens came alongside and a religion emerged; a source of consolation and justice on matters of heartache. The nostalgia for the variety of futures to browse through, when choice had yet to be made.
Goodbye young man, welcome a guy in his thirties.
I'm not even as late as I was to my teens or the bit after.

well .... Only the leanest meat can stay on the bones.

No excitement is allowed on the job. Clearest judgement and cold calculation are of the essence. Enjoyment can be drawn along the way but only along the way and in doses appropriate to the momentary thrill.
Purpose was a dream of a dream become and it brought me through. And I wake up sensing time as a part of my mind.
It is not a purpose neither is it a life i didn't have. It is not new. It's just as if from the training ground deployed. Wood timbered and selected for manufacture. It's out to be defined.
Particular outcomes of encounters and actions become desirable the same way as satisfying hunger is. Value gained was never before equalled with distraction incurred.

So, no, I'm not instantly happy and content just by figuring something out. But I finally know how to become; It is for the first time safer than it is dangerous to buckle down and work hard.
The time come to learn to live with the good and the bad of a commitment.
I'll be damned, if it wasn't about just that from the start...

A month or so ago I bought my self a new pair of shoes. Barefoot too as I can't imagine I would ever again wear another. They are the same model as the previous ones, only in different colour. They are not black, they look like a shoe that some people might generally not wear and I can't be anybody I need to be in them. But I'm more than comfortable in them being my self which lately I've been in abundance.
I waxed them two days after I bought them. This has never happened before so fast if it had happened at all. Thursday rained all day and I went to site in Mayfair, walking about, popping to a design studio in Soho Square and to grab a lunch in between in China Town.
By that time of the day puddles were ever present and the downpour was yet to show a sign regress.
And i was dry. Like, full on cosy warm and dry.
It is a good pair. With attention they've proven to be great. Yesterday, I cleaned them thoroughly and re-waxed them.
Expendable assets seem now to be allowed to attain emotional value through attention given to them.

I wondered the other day or a few, whether I was always so cold and only just found out or whether I'm maybe slowly succumbing to the lack of tenderness in my life. And whether these two explanations exclude one another.

However!
I have flown over 36 hours of which near 6 solo.
I have passed all nine written exams, killing eight at 100% and Met at 93.
Left to go and get are: the radio license and with it connected language proficiency test, a long cross country flight dual and solo, and the final skills test.
I'm good at it; I get the law, I appreciate the procedures and environments, I feel comfortable in flight and handle the plane with confidence.
I'm behind my initial schedule, but not for reasons I could have predicted or avoid and I'm wiser for it too.
I planned a nav. flight and flew it past Beachy Head. To where I last saw a Spitfire.
I spent two hours flying solo circuits practising landings. I now land much better.
I flew nav. solo to another airport and landed and then came back. I started feeling little bit like a pilot.

Prancing above Surry:

flying is amazing.
it is also very demanding and at points challenging.
and it's expensive; time and money have gained all new meaning to me.
never did i think i'd need much more money than i'd have had (i really didn't need much) and time was always an element that would take care of it selves.

even now siting here and writing i'm feeling i should instead be working out how to go about shaping the dream into real proportions and working out ways that would be at least as accessible as remote. and that's only because it's too late for studying; if i keep the prop (mind) spinning too much past 9 pm it tends not to settle down before early ours.

'I'm completely unattached.' i responded to a question today.
which seems to be ideal state of affairs for picking up ATPL.
other people would have possibly said that they were single.

i tend to feel guilty when just watching a series or spending time outside, socialising with humans that don't fly and thus have a limited knowledge and attention span regarding aviation. i feel guilty commuting without revising or rehearsing. and i do far too much of the earlier and little of the later.

after a long while i have a good life. i didn't say great because my job isn't yet of the sort i'd want to do even if i didn't have to. but i live in a nice place in an awesome house with great mates. all is really well set up. i eat great food, i drive about all marry as in the olden days, i'm learning to fly on the weekends and i feel i've been my selves more than in a looong time.

yet, a bug's been there at the back calling for me to seclude my selves and devote all my time and efforts to the one thing and the one thing only.
I haven't and won't for a while. it's not the time yet and it would be very silly to let all the good that's happened to me just go. most of the time i'm just going with the flow, enjoying the ride, occasionally struggling not to get distracted by the feeling of guilt spending my time doing something that i should like rather than what i'd really like and want.
not sure whether more liked or wanted ... maybe getting these two in equilibrium is the key.

flew two lessons today, got some crosswind landings done. can wait to do a good one. another two lessons tomorrow and then, rest of the week that i've taken off, spent in books, making ready for first set of exams on saturday.

low key letters because writing this i set through a partly overcast sunset on our terrace. it's peaceful here and i have earplugs too.
tv series are really terrible killer of time and focus. and next on the agenda will be to devise and implement a way to reduce my participation on the happenings in the house, especially just chilling about, postponing that till i'm old.
hard part would be that i like it and i also like being a member of our little chiswick bunch. in the end i'm sure it will be much easier than i'm imagining it now.

i hope it's not too obvious i only wrote because i felt it's been too long since i did the last time.
did i say that flying is amazing?
it's well awesome.
can't wait till i'm really good at it

I've got the car,
I have lessons booked for all the weekends in July.
I have the EASA Class 2 medical examination booked for the next week.
I have holiday approved for the first and the last week of august.
I'm all moved into a new house and settled.
And I find my self in high spirits.

On the 6th July, three years after I came here, if weather allows and nothing goes wrong till then, I set off on to a half a year to up to forty years long adventure.

All that remains to do is to go there and smash it.
 
________


The bear is still set on the well but that wouldn't be him if he wasn't.
The bear that lives in my subconsciousness, the guardian of the well spring of ease.
He's been there since a long time ago, I'd date us some twenty years together, maybe more.
He won't roll over until a deed is done, and only very lazily he does when it is.
And done means done, no threads left lose.
But, he's not all bad. He's always there to fight for me and gives me strength and makes sure I don't fail. But when I occasionally would, he'd lick my wounds and nursed me back to health.

Couple of times that I remember, I would dream of him. He was in an icy cavern hidden by a waterfall.
In the dreams he is much much older, deranged in a painful state of madness. He still guards the well which despite the ever present ice of the cavern never freezes over. He's a vicious old animal in a battered and scared, yet still powerful frame. I come to him to kill him and he's expecting me. I sneak onto him, as if not to give him a chance to taunt me. He spots me when I step into the chamber with the well. He turns to me and roars, I reciprocate but he's much louder than I. I spring forth with ice in my heart and my fore arms buzzing heavy with anticipation of purpose (my fore arms do that).
I do not wake up then but neither do I ever remember what happens after. 

I wonder what would have to happen between now and then so that we'd fight like this.
Maybe I'll learn, maybe it's just fear of the unknown trying to break us apart.

One way or the other, we still have many healthy years ahead of our selves.
Battles to be won..

Spring's come.

April's been when changes happen.

I'm moving house and to the bone reconsidering all that my life's been.

I gather I learned a lot.

Yet I still find my self ahead of the starting line.

All's been postponed some week or three by the move and logistical pitfalls it brings. 

To calm the inner pressures I look to the experience that all I ever did was well premeditated, with all resources flocked in firm ranks for an offensive that can't end but in an overwhelming victory. Sometimes some a while later than in two first opportunities met, but the method thus faster. That's what I tell my selves. 

The weather's been a peach the past two weeks. chilly to start with but past three days we've had up to some 22 degrees and clear skies. The synoptic maps have transformed from an early spring chaos to showing high pressure systems breathing calm onto the turbulent Britain from all sides and even the political turmoil of preceding months seems somewhat forgotten and past even though brexit hasn't yet come to it's climax. 

I have turned thirty one and It'll be three years this July that I came over here. I think it's for the first time i truly miss the old stead, my family and my friends. And for the first time I thought of a return in a positive context. The thought tastes unreal and unimaginable thought, similar as the first glimpses of the idea of me coming over here came into my mind, some four years ahead of the actual migration.

I got a job here. And that's been taking a toll on my free time and visits home. And it is to take precedence for some months, nay years down the line. 

And It's now stagnating even before it started. That's what it feels like. And the pressure is unpleasant as it's unnecessary. 

All my senses tell me, lay low, maintain focus, stay sharp. Courage and fast action will have it's fruition further on. Those two are stage actors and we haven't yet got a stage. Stealth and calculation for now. Why not indulge in sensing the inner storm brewing. The time for leap is near. not yet though.

I recalled recently a game we played at a boy scout camp when I was around ten years old. Vlcata we were; wolf pups. 

For this game we were split into three proportionate groups of around ten boys of all ages, between nine and fifteen. The objective for each of the teams was to go into the woods, find a good spot and build a shelter for overnight stay. Points were received for how well build the shelter was, for how concealed we managed to keep its location and appearance to scouts from the other teams and for Intel about the rival teams shelters whereabouts and appearance.

I was too small to do any serious building apart for gathering materials. (which simply wasn't my thing) And I was too small to guard the perimeter. The big boys from other teams would have simply toss me aside if not just run past.

Running past and making my way through in a pack with other boys was for longer legged ones and so stealth was what I went for. I don't think this independent decision of mine was well received with the older boys in my team as having hostages would be points for other teams as well. I think they knew me well enough not to try to talk me down. This I only suspect now as I never then realised how straight headed child I used to be.

So I went.

I had my camo trousers with big pockets on sides, I had my camo parka with a hood and a large pocket on the belly and I had my khaki green wellies almost up to my knees, with somewhat unfortunately yellow soles (I would just make sure to sneak onto my target head front.).

I walked some distance, guessing where the big boys from rival teams would take their troops due to what I knew of them and after less then expected walking through woods (that I knew very well after two weeks at the camp) I ducked at hearing voices carried by the wind from a ridge over a small valley of a small stream.

At first it dawned on me that I was indeed too small to even make a decent run for it if spotted and any of the big boys could have chased me down in no time. Eventually I started to make very slow and cautious move towards where I assumed due to highest concentration of noise, must be the shelter. I recall pondering whether its that I'm a coward to be so cautious to a point of taking never before seen amounts of time to move point and whether the game won't be well past over even before I'll be able to pinpoint the location of the shelter. (I didn't have clock. team leaders had one each and we'd be called back to the camp by a horn) 

To my growing astonishment, my slow but consistent approach worked. I recall figuring out then (and have followed this ever since) never to look directly at your pray or anyone near your hiding point. Eyes felt like a focus well and as if reciprocal gazes had a tendency to lock in almost magnetically even when unexpectedly scanning the horizon.

I made it very near. Some five meters away from the shelter I laid in almost plain sight, peaking from under my hood, pressing my soles as low to the ground as possible. I was to the side of the shelter where in the tall forest a small group of trees grew with a couple of scattered raspberry bushes. It offered some shade in otherwise well lit forest floor and non of the builders felt they wanted to pass through it as it would require bending down to clear the low branches.

Unfortunately I didn't have a quite clear view of the shelter as it was partly obscured by a tree trunk. I knew that getting up and making flight just past the shelter at some point was the only option I had. But I was so damned short. So I wait.

I remember wandering what is it good for, to be so good at this when nobody knows. To be in fact so good that even when I tell of it later they wouldn't believe me. Maybe a failed daring and courageous attempt would bring me more glory than a semi successful half believable concealed op. But then I thought, I was too small to get any glory one way or the other and so I laid on.

At one point all the strain and worry of being discovered worn off as two boys walked a meter past me even talking about possible spies being around on the near ridge at such later stage of the game and I felt becoming cocky and I remember this brewing in me whilst the brain struggled to maintain morale. I was set on figuring out a way how to make it out, being seen and not being caught. I thought, being so little, it might take them a while to appreciate what I've done and only go for the chase late enough to give me a chance to hide again and win by time chasing them back to their base worrying of it not being protected.

Then after a while, luck struck and a pair of older boys from the third team made attempt at the camps perimeter on the other side from the shelter which caused much commotion and lured almost all the builders and guards away.

Only one staid behind. Consequently my tent mate Vena. He was older than me, but he wasn't the physical type. Still could catch me, but he was told to stay put and to catch me he'd have to make effort. 

So I got up and casually, yet maintaining distance I walked around the camp, nodding to Vena hello.

He first thought I was with them, then he realised I wasn't and I remember seeing in his eyes some horrendous effort to figure out how exactly I must be outside the rules and this is possible. The centre of the commotion on the far perimeter had shifted nearer and so, having seen all, I cheesed it across the stream and into the tall grass of the opposite ridge.

He followed up to the stream and stood there for a bit until called back.

In the end he denied that he had seen me there and my story was half heard and dismissed in disbelief since I was too little. And I didn't really put on a fight trying to confirm it. I knew that it was supposed to be a game of teams and that I was too little to be more than a material gatherer or straight on burden. And that I wouldn't be believed. 

No matter though what this ending sounds like. I was majorly happy with my self that day. Vena knew. Other boys had seen me disappearing as well. 

I knew what I did.

In my quiet way without too much jumping around. I was content for days to come.

I should learn to write abstract stuff again.

Writing the last bit felt like I'm wasting time I could spend procrastinating. (as I was too knackered to study) But later it dawned on me how much I enjoyed it. How much it cleared my mind. 

I always imagine people experience similar feeling when they paint. Painters mostly.

[in the previous prispevek] There's a large concept of multiple possibilities to develop it into a not-a-small sci-fy bit. Which was well enjoyable to wind about my linguistic abilities and not to bore my self too much.

I reminded me of some of the bits i wrote in here well in the past. Some that I considered good writing. And reminded me of how much I used to enjoy writing.

It was in my native language, it was much easier to write much better.

And I'm afraid it wouldn't be any more as I must have lost some of my eloquence through not speaking it, not writing it and not thinking in it. Nothing I wouldn't regain promptly once returned, I'm sure, but not available right now.

So, maybe if I set up a habit of writing shorts bits as the one bellow. Once a week or so. As with the previous one, I'd start with a first sentence that comes into my mind and evokes an emotion, and develop it in to something that won't be too long, too conclusive or dull in any other way.

And maybe with time I'll feel like that I can write again, and will feel more comfortable doing so. And again by another insignificant bit feel more like I'm being my self and living my life.

maybe maybe

Eight minutes it takes to come to ...

There's a tingling sense of deep cold dissipated with a softly whispered spell,
... approximately seventy four rose thorns of ice ...
... thaw into nonexistence ...
No messengers come, expectation of puzzling source stings unfulfilled,
... oppressing question defying articulation,
weighs down the buzz of wakening,
and eventually turns into sense of earth below ...
Breath scared off by the sudden attention it receives,
darkness only just realised reseeds and first glimpse of a thought enters mind, followed by a flood.
... where, why, feels different than it should ...
... must not wake up. must wait for the memory to catch up ...
... 'please settle down, it's just panic nothing else'
... who's panic
Eventually reason prevails over fear and you open your eyes.

You see a circle of light at about an arms length above you. You aren't sure whether it's changing colour or just becoming brighter.

From there on everyone's experience differs.

You have been revived from stasis and you know that it will take a while to come back to your selves. Meanwhile there's a great unknown around and no way back to the time when you slept. You've been born again to live out another purpose.
You're light years away from your home and you have slept through the rest of lives of everyone you left behind.
... Take with you an item of clothing you only wore at home, you'll find that it's the only home you'll need ...

Some feel melancholic, some are scared and some sad. Non's ever reported to have felt happy.
Every journey's end feels should deserve a certain sense of content.
This one doesn't. Or maybe just haven't yet.
No one has yet travelled it more then three times as it's considered unethical and possibly dangerous.

They call them selves the free.
you travel once you shed your lineage.
you travel two times you shed your place as you lose your chance to ever go back.
you travel three times you have lost all regret.
Third time most lose parts of their memory too. They'd never say they forgot, they say they only just stopped remembering what they didn't need to.

'Aliens From Earth' were the headlines
But that was long ago.

I have this sense of a half life that I don't think will ever go.
This I described as one of things I felt about living abroad. It was about six months in to my relocation and I was talking to a friend of mine to whom my home country had then been home abroad for a couple of years.
He agreed to it as relatable. I think where I matched his years in was in my ability of his language that he can't say to have of mine.

I never thought of this since, until today.
I don't have that sense any more.
But I don't have a sense of really living either.

It's all been a game. My life in London. A sabbatical of a sort I took from social pressures of my then life. A life that I can't imagine going back to.
I'm certain it didn't feel like it then, but thinking of it now I realise it was a kind of a half life too. (I think one day I'm going to refer to that period of my life as The Big Wait of 013 to 017)

I had this concept of society being sort of a fish tank. About how one didn't really have to do much as all paths were paved.
About how trying hard was a mere character trade that only occurred in some but didn't really have much effect on anything.
And dreams were dreams and reality was reality, never to be mixed in order to prevent harm.
Illusion on the other hand was a thing sought for by all.
Literally.
People would say 'don't take away his illusions.' and when sad or disgruntled with lost winnings on something I never really tried hard for I'd say 'this must be what loosing illusions feels like'.
I suppose I was a creation of my generation and age.
I suggest not a device or forethought! Only things considered good were passed on. Among them respect for the old as they were the last to see the world in colour.
Let's waste our time the nicest way, so that one day we can say that we did all the things an old person might be happy to have had done when they were young.

It's good I left the old place. There was always this feeling that something really important was missing. A generation of people who grew up in a despised prison that they learned to miss as it had one day gone to be replaced with something they always wished for but when it came true it didn't speak their languages and had already been going for a while without them anyway. Adults, I called them (dospěláci). I used to think I would be one of them now, but I'm not. None of the people that became adults since are like them. Some do resemble them a bit, but it's not really working for them.
This is not me trashing the generation of my wonderful parents. They probably were happier young than my generation are anyway. All I'm saying is that living in my world in the way their world was best lived is just so ... not living.

And so here I am.
Feeling like at an end of a holiday. Having a recollection of the sense of half life I had when I came over away.
Why I wrote earlier that as I didn't feel like that any more and that I didn't feel like being alive either was because I indeed haven't been living much lately.
Most of my spare time these days I spend in books and study, loving every second of it.
See, not drinking doesn't lend the justifying hand, booze would, keeping me hanging out where I felt uncomfortable as if only because I didn't have anything better to do anyway.
Being sober has so far brought very much out the introverted me that I used to shun as not being cool enough or simply too prudish to be let among people that didn't know me.
Whether it's because I've been sober, or because I've had strong enough purpose to my life to choose more wisely what to occupy my time with or whether it's spring stirring me up I don't know, but I've been very honest with my self lately. And it didn't lead to the usual flight to illusional realms of grandeur but to unexpected consolation and rather constructive lines of thought.

The fact is that I don't have in my life the things I'd like. This is partly to change when I start flying. And when that's started and relatively well off the shore, I'll rearrange other parts of my life to feel more like I'm living my life as well.

Committing to a particular school and with it having to lay with all my weight into the support infrastructure of my quarters and my job I suddenly have a tendency to be a way more critical of both. What was more than a great holiday occupation seems to glisten less when considered for the career to fuel my ambition with.
It's not a holiday any more and it will now matter how much stability I can muster.
It's no more to be that period of my life when I had a break from the future.
No more half life.
Now all the things I do determine who I em and who I em determines how far I'll be able to go.
And in this respect I'm afraid that my current employment is less then satisfactory. Stable perhaps. Professional growth there in however, seems less and less attainable.
This, I'm still hoping, might prove just a whim of the spring's fickle temper. But at the same time I wouldn't like to wait out the inevitable again instead of moving the fuk out as a good soldier should. 

Sadly enough, brexit's expected to have a say to my near future as well. So, let's not shuffle the deck before we are clear of that bullshit.

I want to tell you more. And there's more to say too. And it all is good too.
But I need to go to bed as I go to work tomorrow. And I haven't been too depressive lately to write often enough. So I probably won't. But
One of the things I won't elaborate on as much as I wanted to is that I don't think it might be that hot with me being bipolar and that deep lows are inevitable. I argue, that it might just be that occasionally I get sad because I don't have anything to be happy about. But this might just be a frugal refute of my currently ongoing high. Again; I won't elaborate, but it is a fruitful thought indeed and it might be wise to set up a support frame of beacons of hope around the expected path of mine to avoid another such void.

I really going now. good night

I always really liked people to do their thinking for them selves.
(Not always I suppose, but for a very long consecutive time after having left the short period when I would dabble in manipulation and controlling of what they knew and did with it. Which was over a decade ago and the resolution upon it's exit was that it's hard work that never stops with little fruit, especially with how little I relied upon others.)

Not telling people what to think. Not asking them what they are thinking and not disputing what they say or what they do (until it's in my way obviously ... I'm no bloody budha). If it's to be so that my presence is to make impact on their reality I prefer it to be with a reflection or a question rather than directions and forced imagery. I'd say that being louder to others than their own thoughts is a form of violence and that saying little towards a conclusion and leaving them time and peace to think rather then explaining has a better chance of them actually understanding things in the way things actually are. (rather than them half baking a certainty of being on the same page not to look dumb) Maybe it isn't so and it's just me.

But it always seemed the most effortless way to go being about people. And I still believe it is. But sometimes, bat shit weird stuff comes out. Say one in hundred, they'll flip af.

I also think that most of what I wrote above was just an attempt to justify using the phrase bat shit weird stuff and that they'll flip as fuk.
And I think, in a kind of a reverse psychology, it was kind off along the lines of what brought these words into my mind in the first place and since been awarded with them for a label.

We as humans really are just vessels for transporting the past into the future to give it a shape. Whether to copy the shape or deviate from it as far as imaginable or to be remembered or forgotten is well past our grasp and ability to comprehend.
And thinking that whatever we feel and think is good for else but staying alive and reproducing effectively would be foolish. But we do, so it's probably important. Since it is such a core persuasion to so many and has been for so long. I suppose that it might have been this one attribute we tend to award so exclusively as one would in it's nature, that has given us the ability of technological evolution ahead of anyone else. The attribute being narcissism.
Understanding things. understanding the universe. That's the only thing that technology gives us. better maths = better technology and vice versa. (what came first, maths or technology?)
One might say that it also makes our lives better, but life is only as good as the worst one to compare with. And that having better life and not knowing about it doesn't mean not having a better life might well be so, but somebody knows. And this somebody decides what's better. This somebody is probably narcissistic.
There we are, learning of the universe, capable of understanding some nano-convoluted proton shit and fling probes into stars. Learning in amounts never seen before and surpassing boundaries of our own imagination. Yet still, the same dumb shits, making decisions upon narcissistic and selfish beliefs of getting ahead of the next one we envy the most, electing the stupidest leaders only to spend days and nights in self pity and hatred. Revering arrogance, as it seems the only thing that doesn't care whether it matters. Which is so fashionable! Even the actually vise poor people say that.
It would almost seam that our ability to understand the universe grows proportionately to how dumb we get as a species.
Or maybe we just proportionately elevate the standards of what's intelligent as a secies should when wielding ever so much more power.
But then again, if the purpose of our growing cognitive abilities as a species is (as I was once again driving at) us being the tool of the universe being curious about it selves, it doesn't really matter how dumb we get as long as we don't destroy our selves. At least before we create our selves a replacement.
As a species and as individuals i suppose too.

Also. I think that that low i wrote of earlier there, is in most part, if not entirely past. I don't feel like i make more sense to others and don't feel any less awkward in most social situation. But my mind is back on my side and where it can't persuade me that i actually rocked the stage it finds me reasons why it was actually good that i didn't or just find out why it didn't matter and actually let's me let go.

I haven't touched a drop either. It was somewhat an effort at points, but nothing terrible. It feels like I haven't really started with it yet. It probably is though because it was about me stopping rather then starting.

this is the traditional new years post.

in 019:
- I'll reach for the sky.
- I shan't touch a drop.

I'll start my PPL course and if all goes well I'll have my wings by the end of the year. There is still a lot of prep and logistics to put together and heaps to learn ahead of actual flying. I'm aiming to be ready to commit to a particular school by the end of April.
I won't drink. I won't have a sip or a taste of alcohol for the whole of the 2019. Weddings and a celebratory drink on account of a flying paper would be only exceptions. But not necessarily.

018 was a bit of fun.
It started with a heartache and some lengthy soul searching throughout the winter months. Spring was sweet and easy and summer was long and intense. Autumn was busy and messy and winter's been a hard work.
April, when I changed job, now seems so long ago. I did a pile of work since then and learned equally. And it seems that a good ratio of work and learning is to be maintained and remuneration is to remain on a good curve as well. (This is foreseeable for the first half of the year. For the later part I dear not to guess as a lot will depend on fickle hearts and politics I'm barely aware of or involved in.) And among only the most important things about it; It feeds me and my dreams which is why one has a job in the first place.
In the summer I went for a holiday with my parents. Devon and Cornwall road-trip. What a ludicrous idea one would think. But I so needed the break and familiar souls near that I just danced in, took and gave what was needed or due and didn't leave any time for the plot to wander off and it was a huge success. Weather helped a good deal as well, they say it seldom is this beautiful down there.
A love affair followed after then. Neither loved the other as much as the others company nor did we have else but loneliness in common and the summers chemistry was sobered out of promptly with the first discourse. It cost me a dear friend and a good deal of sleep and ruined a harmonious household. I'd like to write something nice about it too, but it might take a while to remember.
I'm a story teller and a good listener too, actor however, I'm peculiar; I can be a really great main character, yet I suck terribly in supporting roles. I suck so bad weird shit happens and tragedies of unforeseeable proportions ensue. Main star don't give a cue to and an extra and few will notice. However, giving a wrong line to the main character to climax the story upon or not turning up for the scene altogether is a shooting matter. They'll cut you up in the press to cover the losses too. As they say, the show must go on. And if you don't care to play Brutus after the killing's done, you need to play Mark Antony if not Caesar lest you end up being the Judas a harbinger of all ill.
This applies in all walks of life. And since i can't afford an agent, I should finally bloody learn not to take supporting roles or roles I can't leave for the horizon to swallow in case the script turns.
This should be much easier now that I have a purpose. Smallest decisions to the big ones. I finally have a script ahead of the show and all I got to do is to fill blanks.

I'm not expecting the 019 to be plain of surprises and twists in plots of all sorts. But I would hope 018 thought me not to give a fcuk enough.

This post was supposed to be about 018 but I can't seem to be able not to spill on with every other line. And the record of posts for the year seems humble as well. It might just have been the kind of a year when perhaps much happened but none as significant as what did the year before or is expected to come in the next.
From the 015s waiting for something, through the 016 stepping into the unknown and the 017 taking chances and learning to dream again, the 018 was self reinvention and hard work. Ahead of 019s; stuff's got to happen.

So! to work tomorrow. To quash or hush up fuck-ups to start with, following on with some more hard work onto getting shit done and sorted, being a bolly hero, wandering why did I ever stress so much.
Can't wait. What I can't wait for even more is my first solo flight. If I don't write anything else this year, I'll write about that.