I’ve been out most of last week. I’d spent my money and my time on cocktails, dinners, and with women. In a way I’m living the dream, while another part knows I’m living like an arsehole.
Work has been fun. I’m spending all my time behind the busiest section of the bar making drinks a thousand times. The bar can be difficult when you’re working at high volume. You’ve got to work in the space you have, knowing there’s other bartenders in your personal space too. They’ve also got to work. You’re throwing bottles in the air and trying to grab the till. You look around to talk to customers but can easily walk into other bartenders.
I want it to be my space, my stage consuming all my energy, but it isn’t really. Some nights I have energy and like last Friday night you can’t do anything wrong. You tell jokes. The customers laugh. They enjoy themselves. But then on the Saturday you have nothing left to give.
Anxiety. I guess I always had it. But I’m starting to recognise it now. Its flare ups, the signs that it is building up. If I listen to it all the time and try to avoid anxiety then there’s nothing I really can get to do. If I go out once or twice a week I’m likely to increase my anxiety. If I avoid confrontation or even if I do I’m likely to have a flare-up. If the world around me isn’t perfect in any way I could get anxiety. If there’s a girl I like I’m seeing then I’m sure as hell going to be anxious about it. I need a predictable and controlled world, but the world doesn’t work like that. And I need to live.
I need a predictable and controlled world, but the world doesn’t work like that. And I need to live.
So I guess I try to go out and spend it with different people. I’m trying to enjoy the present.
On Sunday night after work I crashed hard. My body said ‘screw you!’ after a few days of pub food and late nights. I should have known it was coming. But then of course I had to call in sick on Monday and I’m still feeling guilty about it. I know that’s silly.
My day offs have been empty. They never used to be. Today I’m doing my laundry and sorted through my assessments. Uni starts next week! It was a shock to go through it all and double check my Grade Point Average, which has somehow dropped from a 6.5 to a 5.4.
My goal is to transfer overseas to Colombia but I’m going to need a minimum GPA of 5.5 in order to do that. Right now my mind is in a haze and I don’t know if it’s because I’m still sick, or something else is going on, but I know I need to straighten my life, or everything I’m doing is for nothing. Or is this knowledge, this need, only a flare-up, a fight to avoid remaining in the present? Regardless, what I have right now is doubt, and even then I feel I need that doubt to motivate myself, and to feel something more in order to do better. It’s a compulsion, you see. I need compulsion in order to do my best.