Post in which I am a Boat

Last week’s post was an interesting one.  A bit of a marmite response in general.  It’s fine, it’s all good. I don’t know anything, nobody does.  But I am human and can’t help but feel the need to explain myself, as though it’s somehow going to make me a shinier person.  It won’t but that’s OK too.

I write about myself.  I am trying to make some kind of sense of my own head.  It’s not a pretty business.  I can only write about the things that are true for me, I suspect truth is a pretty subjective thing anyway, who knows. This is what is true for me right now.  Tomorrow?  Who knows.  Next week?  I can’t think that far ahead.

If I were a boat then I am a boat with a hole in it . It’s quite a big hole.  The hole obviously allows a fair amount of water in which means I am in trouble.  So of course I try to address the hole because the hole is hassle, the hole is holding me back, throwing me off course.  For some reason, for years now, I have tried to mend the hole by doing other things.  I’ve painted the boat,  bought new sails, rearranged the deck chairs etc etc and so forth.  None of these are bad things.  They are just things.  They don’t mean anything.  Some of them have been great even, the relocation a couple of years ago for example, had a massive impact on our family life.  Go us.  I still have a hole in my boat.Watch movie online Get Out (2017)

Last year I wrote poems on my boat.  It was lovely, it still is.  I am still writing poems on my boat.  I still have the hole.  The hole still lets in water.  Sometimes I stuff things in the hole.  Food or exercise (or at least I did before I got sick) or crap TV or new shoes.  I imagine that if I have a nice pretty job then the hole will magically fix itself. I still would like a nice pretty job, one with theatre lights and an orchestra preferably, it will make me feel good, it will add to my life, it will do lots of cool things for me.  It won’t fix the hole though.  The hole is an inside job.

I write about myself.  I don’t know if other people have holes in their boats, they don’t look like they do.  Their boats are bigger and better and faster in the water and they sail as though they don’t have holes.  Maybe they don’t.  Maybe some do but are better at hiding them than I am.  I only know about my boat and it has a hole.

So now, this time, I want to fix the hole.  And I know from past experience that another qualification or the perfect job or whatever won’t fix the hole for me. I’m going to have to get down on my hands and knees and bang some nails into some wood.  And when the hole is fixed I’ll still want all the other stuff but I hope I will want it in a different way.  Because it’s fun or because I think I would be good at it or because I think it will help others.  But not because I think it’s going to stop the leaks.

I am ready to get rid of it.  I hope I can.  I am ready to be well in my body and my mind and my soul.  I hope that kind of boat mending is actually possible because we only get one chance at sailing about this place and I’d much rather do it without wet feet.

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