Stuff & Nonsense

So I’ve booked a ticket and I’m off.
And I’m trying to let my place so now I’m packing all my stuff into boxes. All the accessories to a life that I didn’t really live. Overall, there isn’t much. I have little baggage. It seems I avoided all big responsibility.
There’s a line in the novel Fight Club that goes ‘Then you’re trapped in your lovely nest, and the things you used to own, now they own you.’ I felt like that. So now I’m packing my nest into little boxes. I am no longer my stuff. I am no longer my flat. And I’m no longer my job.
Now I’m just my jeans and some earwax.
What’s more worrying is that I am no longer my bookshelves. How am I supposed to impress girls if they can’t see the way I strategically placed Sartre's Being & Nothingness next to 15-Minutes Abs Workout?

Exhell

I can’t believe it.
I’m still using Excel.
I walked out of my job to get away from an office, away from a desk, and away from Excel. And yet here I am, sitting at my desk, planning my trip on a spreadsheet, using Microsoft Office.
Somebody shoot me.
Having said that, I’m thinking of creating a pie chart showing my days in each country and link it to a photo slideshow in PowerPoint with an online collaboration trip itinerary in Word.
Change is good.

My Solipsism Is Better Than Yours

'What about money?' I asked myself.
'It was a good salary,' I answered. 'And benefits too.'
'It was good money to be giving up. Now you are earning nothing and you have no plans.'
'I know. I’m trying not to think about it.' I paused. 'But, money isn’t everything.'
'It is to those who don’t have any. What about savings?'
'I have some. I’m no Bill Gates, but I have some.'
I stared at me. 'Aren’t you worried?'
'I’m trying not to think about it… I’m trying not to think long term.'
'Keynes said, “The long term is but a sequence of short terms”.'
'Exactly,' I agreed with myself. 'I’m just planning the next few short terms...'
'So what do you hope to get out of it? Of this quitting your job and running away abroad?'
'I’m not running away.' I frowned. 'I was in a lifestyle without life. And it’s all such a short ride, you know, then it’s over. I’m just trying to rekindle the fire; I’ll find some way to see through the rest.'
'Or maybe you’re just avoiding things as usual…'
'Screw you.'
'No, screw you.'
Luckily, just then, another me walked in and stopped me from hitting me.

A More More Kind Of Less

‘It’s a more more kind of less.’
‘Exactly,’ I say, nodding. I have no idea what that means.
‘It’s so disturbing.’
It isn’t the only thing that’s disturbing. ‘Yes, but don’t you think it’s derivative?’
‘How do you mean?’
We’re looking at a piece of art. I’m trying to act smart. ‘Hm, I don’t think it’s saying anything new.’ It isn’t saying anything at all. It’s a surprise that galleries are so quiet if each piece is supposedly jabbering away.
‘No, but it’s distilled.’
I’m in need of something distilled. ‘I think it lacks conviction,’ I bluff. My comment lacks conviction. I lack conviction.
A pause. ‘Interesting observation. Yes, you could be right…’
That’s it, I should become an art critic. I'm a natural. I mean, take this next piece, just listen to it, it’s so… so contextual.

Send Help

So I’m thinking of doing some volunteer work.
I’m thinking of going to a poor country and helping needy people.
I’m thinking of digging wells, or building schools, or repairing hospitals. I’m thinking of trying to make some small difference in this screwed up world of ours.
Or I may just go sit on a beach for a few months.
The main thing is to go somewhere hot.

Out Of Office

Today is my last day in the office.
My desk is no longer mine. My opinion is no longer wanted. My services are no longer requested. After three and a half years I’m walking out with... some reflection, some memories, and some stationery.
Now, one of my main raison d’être is no longer. I’m going to have to find a new reason to wake up, a new path to follow, a new way to define myself.
As to what I leave behind, I’ll paraphrase Rupert Brooke:
If I should quit, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of that foreign office
That is forever Seb. There shall be
In that rich corner desk a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom Seb bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, his efforts to love, his ways to roam,
A body of Seb's, breathing Sebby air,
Splashed by his tea, blest by the suns shining out his arse.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by Seb given;
His sights and sounds; dreams happy as his day;
And laughter, learnt of work colleagues; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under a Sebby heaven.

Fear And Trembling

So I’ve been dabbling in Kierkegaard again. Sometimes, during my lunch break, I have a prawn sandwich and consider the nature of despair and guilt. Kierkegaard focused much of his work on the conflict of concrete human reality over abstract thinking. He stressed the importance of the self, and the self's relation to the world as being grounded in self-reflection and introspection. In highlighting the importance of personal choice and responsibility he reminds me of Camus and the philosophy of the Absurd. And this self-creation of meaning in an absurd universe makes me wonder if I really do need some cargo pants. I mean, would Kierkegaard have worn cargo pants had they been around in his time? And if so, as casual-smart or just while lounging around writing The Sickness Unto Death? I don’t agree with facile nihilism but somehow I think draw-string pants are just asking for trouble.