Filth

And as the filth dripped from my fingers, like mud squelching away from trodden gumboots, I realised that this was where I was meant to be.

Funny how when I watch a live performance, whether it is a jazz singer on stage or a guitar happy duo strumming away to the latest songs, I tend to find that it calls for a moment of solitary reflection.

"I know you can't say you love me but I still hope inside that you do..." croons the girl dressed casually on stage. In a vest, a grey singlet and skinny jeans, she's hoping to evoke Charice, Beyonce, and probably Adele all at once.

I wonder, for a brief moment, whether I was having an existential crisis. What am I here for? What do I do with my life? Do I even like what I'm doing? And what choices do I have?

I remembered speaking to my mother this morning and telling her, "Whenever I have felt that I have no choice, it was always because I had decided not to do anything about my current predicament."

What was funny was that it was true. I had come up with a thousand different reasons why I could not do a certain thing and at the end of the day, the choice was still mine to make. It infuriated me. I hated being the one in charge of my destiny. It was easier to blame someone else, to fault someone or something or the Universe if it stood up to my incessant blaming.

GrannyGoose told me tonight that she needed me as a clinical therapist, not so much as a website manager or a video chop & changer.

And deep down inside, I knew that I cared more about doing technical stuff rather than just seeing patients. I guessed I found what I really wanted to do.

You find out what you really want.  And hopefully, its not too late in your journey of life when you do.

There's more out there.

But heavens.

I miss feeling excited again.

I miss the thrill of something that gets me out of bed early even though I ache from head to toe and I would rather just sleep in a little longer. But no. I stumble out of bed.

I need a thrill.

I want a thrill.

And damn it, where is it?