Having turned 40

I haven’t got a clue what’s going on. I turned 40 last week but that doesn’t seem to have made much difference. It was on my mind a lot in the build-up, but not so much now that it’s happened. Life ticks on; God knows why. How much fucking longer? I mean, if this was a movie I’d be squirming in my seat. I am.

I’m back in Leeds; that was a mistake. Going to Perlilly’s was probably a dream-predicted mistake too. I wanted to get out of it but didn’t have the balls. I wanted to stay in Kent but didn’t want to push it with M+E. But now having not done those things I can see it would have been better: better for the work and better for my head. Now I’m in the wrong place. I don’t know where I should be, what I should do. Better not get trapped again in Leeds. I won’t be happy with that.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I came back to England because…I was going mental in America. And for the refereeing. And the refereeing’s just a pain in the arse. I know I should knuckle down and write, and for that I need a place. That’s pretty much all I need. A place and a computer and the wherewithal. But where?

If I went to Exeter I would need a job, to pay the rent. If I got a job I would be back to square one.

I could go to London. I could just bum around and stay with various people and write during the day. Avoid the internet. I’m sure I could do it.

I feel so down and desperate, and there’s nothing else to do. No more ambitions. No more ideas. Life just ticking away till life is no more. It’s a great place of freedom, really. It would be nice if it wasn’t for all the pressures…