Ah … um … it’s been an interesting 60-hour span in my life. A somewhat improbable series of events. Not so much that if I had written the last 60 hours of my life as a chunk of plot in a story, that I would go back and read it later and think “no, that won’t work, that would never happen” and delete it. But to plot the last 60 hours of my life in a story would probably nevertheless take some considerable maneuvering to get all the characters into place. The juxtaposition of events in my professional and personal life so close together still seems just a tad improbable at best.
[tag]Truth[/tag] is stranger than [tag]fiction[/tag]; art rarely imitates life because life is more f’ed up. On the other hand, Friday was Friday the 13th. Que the spooky music. But then, all that has happened are good things.
And when I reflect back on the past 2.5 days of my life, which I’ve been doing for the past two hours, in between fending off drunks, blaring dance music and talking with the friend I was hanging out with, it occurs to me that everything that has happened has been the result of my actions. Either things I’ve done, or things I’ve reacted to. Even the events that I was merely reacting to, those events were precipitated by actions that I’ve taken in the past. I may not have seen all of the broader implications at the time those actions took place, but in retrospect, none of what has happened really seems surprising – just the seeming improbability of it all happening so close together.
All of which is comforting in a way. It all would seem to confirm that I am master of my own [tag]destiny[/tag], as opposed to a pawn of [tag]fate[/tag]. Rarely master of my domain, it’s true, but master of my own destiny nontheless. No one calls the shots on the stage of my life but me. Besides, if I am just the tool of fate, the product of predestination, then you guys are pretty much shite as authors.
What’s even more odd about all this is that even though right now, at this very moment, I’m the happiest I’ve been in some time, I feel more alienated than ever from my fellow (?) human beings. One would think that would be depressing, but no. Perhaps I’m just so accustomed to feeling that way. Perhaps its because I’ve been drinking [tag]Guinness[/tag] since four in the afternoon on Saturday and it’s now 12 hours later (what can I say? My mother’s family is Irish; I can hold my pints). More likely some combination of the former and latter, to be sure.
I would write more about all this, but I really, really, have to go to sleep now; my muse is just going to have to wait.