West End Final

The man shouting 'Evening Standard' is sounding like he's saying 'Free Light Sternum'.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I sometimes wonder if my creative days are over; if the flame of inspiration has finally burned out. That's what they all used to say to me at Essjes; "You've got to slow down; you've got to stop, or you'll get burnout." Apart from the obvious grammatical issues, it always confused me. Or perhaps 'bemused' is a better word. Yes, I might die young. Probably will, in fact. But what's wrong with that? What is so terrible about living a short but fulfilling life, rather than dragging the whole sorry process out over decades? These days, I don't want to die. I feel like I've wasted two years, and I want to make them up: I want to re-become. 

I was nearly there, in Souten. I was nearly who I wanted to be. Or nearly on the way there. And then along came Arthur, and then Outilschmidt, and then marriage; and now look at me. Fat, dumpy, needy; and, worst of all, comfortable. I'd almost rather be working in Shooze; in a place further down the career ladder where I didn't ultimately give a shit about my job, but where I could be myself at the end of the day. And during the day, where I could be someone totally different from myself. 

The wind seems to believe I'm thinking in the right direction.

She must become herself again, or there will be no point in her continuing to live.

It's been so long since I did anything of any purpose in the world. I fucking hate myself, hate what I've become. A shell. A shell with no principles. I can understand why people turn to religion. When I was religious, even though I didn't believe the cuntwallop they spouted, I had a reason to act in a way befitting to a good religious girl. Quite what that reason was, I'm not sure I could say. Belief. So much of what we do depends on belief. I'm heading for the gate in the field because I don't believe I can jump the fence. But is that the only reason why I couldn't? As a kid, I tried all sorts of things, believing I could do them. And I rarely, if ever, failed. Now look at me. The confidant girl, full of belief, of faith - her own and others' - has switched these for love and trust, neither of which comes naturally to her. She has become Me, and that is someone I definitely do not like. 

The First Three Minutes (and the last)

I reacted in pretty much the same way. I’m not so good at taking anything seriously, at least not in front of other people. “You have three weeks”, they said. “No I don’t”, I replied. “You are going to die in three weeks”, they said. “No I’m not”, I replied. “I have to do my A-levels.”And I did. And now, three years on, heading a department of an advertising company, researching Psychology at one of the UK’s top universities, I’m still trying to keep my secret secret. My fiance knows. My two best friends know. And that’s about it. My employer has no idea, my research teammates are in the dark. I don’t intend to go out wih a bang, to a fanfare of people who’ve been hanging over the edge of my deadly precipice, awaiting the moment when I’ll fall and all the while trying to catch me. For most people, it will be very sudden, and totally unexpected. For a select few, it’ll be utterly unsurprising, and they will have been preparing for some time. As will I. As will I.