Archive for June, 2011

I’m going to try and write a quick, more sober, look at things today, avoiding some of the histrionics that come out of me the times I am drawn to purge myself of some of the bile, bitterness, resentments, frustrations, anger and self-hatred that come up from time to time negotiating life as an intelligent, creative, high functioning autistic.

I have been back from Prague for almost a month now. It has gone quickly. In that time I have adjusted not at all to being back. I have settled not at all. I have thrown myself into one thing and another, trying to build a kind of structure around me. I have, to this end, written a lot of pieces for a rather quixotic application for a position on a respected left wing political journal. I have read a fair amount of Czech, trying to improve my level. I have met up with a girl around here who wants to work on some songs, me playing guitar, she singing.

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Feeling exposed

Posted: June 4, 2011 in Uncategorized

It’s late-ish on a Thursday night and I have been chasing my tail for the last few hours unsure of what to do with myself. I’ve been working on an application for a job in London working as an assistant editor on a respected political journal, and though I have a first class honours degree in Politics and, I think, all the language skills and requisite capacity for critical thinking necessary to do the job well, I doubt myself, and wonder if I am capable of completing the application, and, since I doubt my chances, if it is a worthwhile use of my time.

The application was something I found a few days ago when I was scrambling around trying to find my feet having completed a couple of projects I had been working hard for since New Year, and which provided the structure I need to function. I ran my first marathon in Prague a couple of weeks ago, and completed a course in writing the short story for which I had read God Knows how many shorts, articles and books on creative writing (some of which are surprisingly good), and endlessly puzzled over my own talents and temperamental shortfalls, trying to harness the former and strongarm the latter, the very day before I was due to jet out. Landing back in dark and dismal M_____ and driving back to the rains of C____, I found myself between dwelling places, between projects, well and truly out of love with the work I was doing, the place I was living in, and out of sorts with the people I was surrounded by, and, overall, in utter disarray, which in the coming days I was to express in blog posts and e-mails and God knows what else.

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