To have awoken at this hour, craving tea and sugar, may mean a serious caffeine addiction- or perhaps the affliction of a cold.
Well, I'm chasing up my sneezes with Tetley and a gingernut, absconding from sleep and trying to alter my inner body temperature by waking and writing in an upright manner. It's not highly surprising that I'm here awake- for one week now my body has yielded relentless energy, walking and reading amidst many out of social nature... With less food than sometimes, and more alcohol than most times.
It has been the most over-active week, perhaps completed so resourcefully thanks to an interior battle- against viral attack. I win over the enemy during the first stages of invasion, and seize the opportunity to overdo. I leave myself yearning for more hours, within which I don't need to eat or sleep to function, yet where I can act or create in a tireless fashion.
I have to be up before three hours, prepare for a drive to Wolverhampton to attend a meeting of the journalist minds- and then follow it up with the rest of the day.
The days themselves are a ferocious balancing act in which several balls course continuously like a ferris wheel, to be tossed and juggled. There are mostly always social arrangements to be orchestrated- meetings, discussions, bonds, therapy, coffee, lunch... These are to oblige requests and to balance the rest of the day's activities. They often include interviews, ready for the next pending article.
So then there are also the pending articles- which I resent ever having to be seen as a chore! They are my choice, my future- how can writing about music ever possibly present itself as a tedious responsibility? Usually when it's a task slotted aside other weekly endeavors.
Reading, writing, and indulging works of art contribute other compulsions... embedded beneath the timely interruptions of having to prepare for a birthday, or some other necessary event. And to stay as thin as I am with the omission of daily exercise regime, simply leaves no capacity to be ill.
I have not used my exercise bike or completed a single sit-up for over a week now- willingly exempting myself from the regiment of it, since about the age of 16 (although I have ensured to walk and attend aquafit in this last week). Firstly, there's the fact that it's become too regimented, and secdonly too much of a drain on the minutes- leaving me with less energy to donate to dividing between socialite, and serious artist of language, music and creation. And of course my band sits in there with leading priority- involving composition, practise, and performance. Something occasionally has to give, and it's a shame that I have to do restaurant work as well- out of monetary necessity (for living and the rest of lifestyle), and responsibility. The wish to have a State to fund me adequately whilst I seek creative accomplishment, dipped in to Bohemia- is forever recurring.
I want to live like the greats- like Modigliani, or Baudelaire, or Wilde. Creating masterpieces through inebriated bursts, living humbly in bohemian beauty, and earning cheap passage to Paris. Interspersing my days with romance and good red wine, fascinating conversation with like-minded contemporaries! My droog and I must travel this journey together, lightening it with music and film- bask in the glory of success, sooner rather than later.
What a shame everything in this life of any sort of establishment, pertains to money. It's all capital gain, but at least I've discovered that happiness is very separate from measurable success. It is of a greater importance to gain credibility based upon merit and respect- not record deals and billboards. Although they would also be nice. But Coventry is both big enough and small enough to gain good reputation, based on well-executed acheivements of a creative nature- within the right circles.
A degree of covcest if you will...
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