Shallow be thy name?
Sometimes I feel so shallow. Like I've got no friends. Being brought up in diplomatic circles has its advantages and its curses, but sometimes, I wonder whether it has made any difference for me? Whether had I lived in Denmark my whole life, would I have had more friends? Would I have gone about this any differently? I'm not sure if it's a natural disposition, or if it's the result of living with my not-so-fabulous stepfather, The Ambassador, for 4-and-a-half years? I bet my psychologist would have an interesting view on this. If he were around. I'm blessed with a shrink who is not the most dependent or stable of professionals, but whom I stick with, because I don't think I can be bothered to start over again with someone new? Because he's seen the good and the bad, and - for better or for worse - now seems to have a pretty good idea who I am? And also, he instills in me a sense that it's all going to be alright? That I will find success, that I will find a job I enjoy doing, and make a comfortable living doing so. And I need that.
I need that stability right now, because lately, I've started to doubt myself. Doubt whether I am in reality able to do anything coherently, and in such a way as to make anyone pay me in any currency for my services? I've spent the better part of a year now, trying to write my thesis. The first 6 months, I had a job. Then I moved with my wife to a new city, and gave up my job as a result, vowing to write the thesis full time. But now the professor, whom I thought would see me through, has up and left me, and I'm looking at starting over for the 4th time (yes - fourth. So, in essence, I've never spent more than 3 months on any giving thesis-subject. Hunky dory, nicht war?). I am having trouble digging myself out of bed every morning - my hearts not in it? What good is this thesis? What the fuck does it matter? It might get me a better salary - then again, I might become so horribly frustrated with it, that I have to spend years and years recovering? Who knows. I just want to get the hell out of Dodge - get it over with, and be on my merry way. I'm going to be someone's Father in two months, for Christs sake?!? "Congratulations son: your Dad's still writing his thesis, and currently holds no job. Luckily, it's not a problem for you, because your Mother's family is of solid means, and so you'll never have to go hungry or live without a roof over your head."
But it fucks with my mind. I want to be the provider? The breadwinner. The man of the house. The husband who buys his wife the Merc for her 40th birthday, and whisks her away to exotic locations and impromptu nights out at fabulous eateries / breathtaking operas / enlightening entertainment / stupendous shopping. Also, I want to be there for the kids - don't want to become an absentee-Dad like my own. And definitely - definitely - not an arms-length father-figure like The Ambassador. Fuck him. Metaphorically. Only a year ago, when visiting them in their new country of temporary residence, I seriously contemplated putting my fist through his face. Mature, isn't it? Then again, I was only 27 at the time...
Well, well, well - this is certainly one of my darker rants, isn't it children? But that's the way it's got to be: take the good with the bad, the light with the dark. And do this knowing that most of the time, I am so good and light that most mortals cannot hold a candle to me. And no, that's not narcissistic. It's fact. Dixi.
I need that stability right now, because lately, I've started to doubt myself. Doubt whether I am in reality able to do anything coherently, and in such a way as to make anyone pay me in any currency for my services? I've spent the better part of a year now, trying to write my thesis. The first 6 months, I had a job. Then I moved with my wife to a new city, and gave up my job as a result, vowing to write the thesis full time. But now the professor, whom I thought would see me through, has up and left me, and I'm looking at starting over for the 4th time (yes - fourth. So, in essence, I've never spent more than 3 months on any giving thesis-subject. Hunky dory, nicht war?). I am having trouble digging myself out of bed every morning - my hearts not in it? What good is this thesis? What the fuck does it matter? It might get me a better salary - then again, I might become so horribly frustrated with it, that I have to spend years and years recovering? Who knows. I just want to get the hell out of Dodge - get it over with, and be on my merry way. I'm going to be someone's Father in two months, for Christs sake?!? "Congratulations son: your Dad's still writing his thesis, and currently holds no job. Luckily, it's not a problem for you, because your Mother's family is of solid means, and so you'll never have to go hungry or live without a roof over your head."
But it fucks with my mind. I want to be the provider? The breadwinner. The man of the house. The husband who buys his wife the Merc for her 40th birthday, and whisks her away to exotic locations and impromptu nights out at fabulous eateries / breathtaking operas / enlightening entertainment / stupendous shopping. Also, I want to be there for the kids - don't want to become an absentee-Dad like my own. And definitely - definitely - not an arms-length father-figure like The Ambassador. Fuck him. Metaphorically. Only a year ago, when visiting them in their new country of temporary residence, I seriously contemplated putting my fist through his face. Mature, isn't it? Then again, I was only 27 at the time...
Well, well, well - this is certainly one of my darker rants, isn't it children? But that's the way it's got to be: take the good with the bad, the light with the dark. And do this knowing that most of the time, I am so good and light that most mortals cannot hold a candle to me. And no, that's not narcissistic. It's fact. Dixi.
posted by Atrejù at 11:27
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home