Killing Time

It's been a while.

I'm not sure where to start, or what to say really.  

The one thing I do know is that, something has definitely changed.  Part of my belief system has altered, and I now know that there is no real point in all of this.  Will I stop going?  No.  Will I stop believing?  No.

But something has been taken from me, and I realise that nothing will ever truly be mine.  Not a home, not fortune, and certainly not love.  

And with that awful slap of reality, what is there to go forward with?  Do I fall down to the ground crying, and hit the booze?  I've been drinking a lot lately, and I've decided to give it a rest.  The only problem is that, reality - my reality is so empty.  Becoming so empty that alcohol is necessary to fill it.  

Once upon a time, in a Creative Writing Diploma class of mine, a tutor told us to create a hero, and take his dreams from him.  Make him live a life void of those dreams, and see how it tears him apart.

That's what's happened to me. 

And even now, if those dreams come true, it would be too little too late.  People aren't supposed to live lives like this.  Full of silent pain, and no one caring.  No one ever caring.  

So a catch up.

I moved out of my flat.  I'm now living in student accommodation temporarily until the end of the month.  And from there, I will be homeless, yet again.  

I'm looking for a new place, but I'm not as plucky as I was last year.  I forced myself to find a new home, because I was determined to emerge from the hell I had only just survived.  I was determined you see.

Now, I don't know who I am.  I am a rootless, outsider.  

You see, I thought I was winning.  I graduated from my Creative Writing Diploma this year, and I was doing alright with my Creative Writing Masters.  And then at the end of May came eviction, came unplanned trips, and with it that all consuming black pit known as DEBT.  Then there were more resits with Real Uni, and their spiteful games.  Then came a new job, which was supposed to liberate me, but has instead made me feel trapped and helpless.  

And now there are only six and a half weeks left for me to complete an entire novel for my Creative Writing Masters.  Now there are only three weeks left to find a new home, before becoming homeless yet again.  Now there are only 5 weeks before I have to return to that hell hole 'Real Uni' and attempt to put the entire six years of suffering to rest.

And amid all that fear and confusion and disbelief, is me slowly losing the will and ability to care.  Why should I care, when everything I work so hard for, I end up losing?

What is it that I am doing, other than killing time?