January, as everyone knows is like the Monday of all the months. The Monday following a wild fiesta that is the holiday season, and therefore by the time you are halfway through it, recovering from your blurry eyed, lethargic state, you can finally get down to business. And what kind of business am I settling down to? You're right! Self-Analysis! My favorite thing to obsessively write about, and conversely that which my faithful readers like to scroll through quickly, picking out only key points to recite to me when I quiz them later.
Yes, I quite like self-analysis. How else would I fill this blog? How else would I learn my true motivations and hinderances? And, most importantly, how would I solicit compliments from the people around me? Self analysis has given me all this and more. And thanks to the passage of time, I can now analyze the past year with a bit of perspective.
2010 gave me a lot of time. It may not have given me a lot in terms of romance, fame, or wealth, but I had an abundance of hours to sit with myself and contemplate. And while that is all well and good, considering my predilection for inverted analysis, it has allowed me to loose step with the real world.
I don't have a lot of skills. I don't play all that well with others, and I am not really handy. But when I was small I came upon one ability that meshed well with a singular facet of my personality. I liked to sit. I had the wide and amble buttocks to facilitate hour upon hour of stagnant upright positioning. I also had the apparent mental capacity that allowed me to be satisfied with the slow and steady pace of such a sit. I also enjoy watching, and listening, and thinking. All easy to complete in the seated position. So, upon this the 23rd year of my existence I found myself partaking in quite a bit of my favorite activity. It started at a job that required being stationary, moving then to a plane ride that demanded it. Then there were taxis, and buses, and trains, and automobiles in which sitting is necessary. Then there was the aimless sitting on beaches, or rocks, or in armchairs, and lawn chairs, and dining room chairs. I sat inside (mostly) and outside (rarely). I sat alone and with others. I sat around fires in my parents backyard and I sat under the stars. And throughout all of this sitting I was given time to think. Time to let ideas and resolutions to problems percolate in my brain. Time to let things go, and think things through. I am very happy for all this time, and happy for all the sitting I was able to engage in. But coming out of 2010 and into this new and shiny decade: enough is enough!
I got the job I wanted. I was able to move back to the city I wanted to live in. Thanks to my brother's seemingly endless generosity I have an affordable (ie. free) place to live, and food to eat. But because of the part time/casual nature of my job (and my stubbornness in finding another one) I still have a lot of time to sit with myself. Although, it is a little less welcome.
A friend of mine commented that when I first came back to the city after my months in self imposed exile, and we got together with a large group of friends I looked shell-shocked for the entire evening. It was too much stimulation, and too many voices (ones existing outside my own head) and it has taken me a long time to get used to all that. And my recovery is hindered even now by my shear amount of free time spent in contemplation. And there is suffering because of it. Mine, and everyone who has to read or listen to me.
When I recount my day to the unfortunate soul who dares to inquire, the big go-to stories involve daytime television or mundane tasks like returning movies. When people ask me "what's new?" I relay the plots from the movies I've watched recently, or the details of acquaintances' love lives I've gained through my voyeuristic tendencies. Nothing is really new with me. Sure, I could share with them how I've traced my love of certain celebrities to events in my childhood, or how I get bashful putting my groceries on the counter at the grocery store, but these details are no more interesting but rather more embarrassing. Even here on this blog I have to beat my head against a stone for something to write about. Entertaining topics don't come so easily when you sleep thirteen hours a day and watch TV for the other 11. While this abundance of time would be nice if I was working on the next great novel during those waking hours but I'm not. Inspiration is a cruel mistress and doesn't visit me in these circumstances. Therefore productivity is at a standstill, and it is making me feel like this time is being wasted. Frittered away with DVDs and little chores.
As I spend my days at an all you can stomach self-exploration buffet, what I am losing is a valuable piece of who I really am and want to be. Interesting. I want to have entertaining and exciting stories to tell people when they ask for them. I want to have an answer to what's new. I want to be able to hold a fascinating conversation with someone that doesn't include the words "Today on The View" or "I saw on Facebook." I want a little bit of glitz of glamour, as apposed to scabs and squalor. And I suppose, for the first time in my life, I will have to go out and DO, instead of sit here and THINK.
And I don't know how I feel about this.