Facets

Within the hour we were already down to The Unbearable Heaviness of Not Being Able To Do Everything. I keep having these conversations, where I'm listing my alternate careers, with a sort of comic nonchalance that I don't quite believe, and wonder if anyone else detects. Air hostess, neuroscientist, ballroom dancer, painting MA. I flit like a crazy thing. He asked me yesterday if I'd seen the Goldsmiths programme, I wonder what it meant that I'd spent the same time listening to the Food Programme salivating (natch) over The School of Artisan Food. I emailed them though I didn't quite believe it, again. Cocktail bar tender. The list could go on.

We talked about repeating degrees. Said out loud it sounded silly, pointless, but kind of fragile and real. You can't go back, but can you do a Hegelian loop, back to A.2? Get me. Part of me thinks I can loop it straight back to the art place. What fires me? Well, different things at different times. Sometimes it's the perfect cookie jar, the feel of half-plain-flour dough, the new combination winner of salt-sugar-fat eat me up. Farm shops, chickens, growing greens, houses, men and babies. An end. Sometimes it's ideas, knowledge, philosophies, creation, the intangible. Art objects, art ideas, travel, new people, young free spirit. The potential I lost and mourn is always there, though I wonder if it still exists. Or am I just being historical.

What smacks is when I am sprung straight back to trains that went in 2004. This whole aphorism thing being super-trendy-over, the art writing now being a thing, foodie arty happenings. Things of which I am critical and find it easy to fabricate the pointlessness of, explained away as carelessly as that time that disappeared. Things I see myself as being a part of, if I'd been in the right place rather than the wrong one at the right time. On a good day there's still space for me there, on a bad day I'm kidding, hanging onto something long gone whilst keeping me from what could be a good thing for now. Baking bread. Is that enough? Would it dissolve the jealousy or just compound it? Was throwing pastry around the living room a sign that it wasn't enough, or merely desperation 2008?

I haven't written for a week. I've not had the words. Something is shifting in my head. I'm doing that thing that she said, where instead of writing lists, I just find myself doing things. Instead of reflecting lyrically perhaps I am actually interacting with people about the things that I am passionate about. How to read, how to lindy hop, how to drink coffee, how not to contemporary dance. Rock and rolling like crazy to forget the situation, sitting in a room for two hours to remember the situation. I certainly do love it when thinking is a Good Thing. I am trying to enjoy my time for the next couple of months, and indulge my 2010 self. Trying to pack as many facets in as possible, give myself a new go. Stop spinning Zoe! Enjoy? And if there must be spinning then maybe just take it to the dance floor? Though sometimes it'd be nice just to have someone in hold.