I watched TV today. Well, I didn't really watch it; I flicked around channels containing nothing of interest to me, whilst being captivatedly interested in the fact that I was watching TV.
It's been months.
This isn't a day off, this is what I do now, save the three days I still work, and I'm struck by the oddity of it all. For almost the past year I've defined myself as the person who works far too bloody much, mostly out of the fact that when you work 7 days a week, there isn't much about you that you CAN use to define yourself other than your unshakable work-ethic. That's not who I am anymore. I have Time.
Actually, I have to question whether the past year ever really existed. I'm trying to think back to it- get myself in the frame of mind of someone who only works and shoots and nothing else, but I can't. I know I was that person yesterday, but it feels like I never was. It feels like it's September 2012, before I ever started working.
No, scrap that, I think the best was to put it is I feel like I've just come out of a tunnel. Sure, I know the tunnel was there, but it was dark and black and pointless and I just trudged on. I remember not the pain, only the endless walking. Nijmegan Marches without the singing.
I feel like as more time passes, I'll be able to pick out memories and events from the last 10 months; I feel it's the shock of the transition that's deadaning everything that's probably somewhere up there in my brain, but, right now, I can put my hand on my heart and say I can't put my finger on a single one.
I guess we'll just have to see how it all turns out.