what's it all about, alfie

pinterest via weird fish, original source unknown

I have made a startling revelation. Something that is making me question everything. Everything. But first, something silly.

I was at the hairdresser yesterday and amused myself by listening to the conversation girls were having at the station beside me (because what else is there to do when you're stuck at the salon for three hours? Three. Hours. Just to have some foils and a colour done. Three hours. For the love of God). The client was dating a new guy and wasn't quite sure if the dude was the right guy for her. When the hairdresser asked why not, this was her reply:

"Well, he has tattoos. Which I'm totally okay with ... totally ... It's just that he has a lot of them. And it's fine, really, I've just never dated someone who has so many tattoos before. I mean, he's got a full sleeve, one on his leg and a huge one on his back. So many! But it's seriously not an issue at all."

Funny, because it sounds like it is an issue. A huge issue. She continued:

"But it's good, you know. I think he realises he isn't dating his usual calibre of girl so he's being really careful not to swear around me."

Hell. His usual "calibre"? Sounds like homeboy - and all of his tattoos - would be better off putting his boots under someone else's bed.

Anyway. So. You guys, not to sound dramatic or anything, but I'm pretty certain I'm deep in the throes of an existential crisis. I've been thinking a lot of the future, about life after university (which, granted, won't be until the middle of next year, but can one really start stressing one's self out too early?) and the grand poobah of all concern: what is my purpose?

What am I here for? What is my point? My purpose? What's it all about, Alfie? I feel like I don't have a plan and I feel like I need a plan. A plan to do what exactly though is the problem. When I said in my last post that my life is ridiculous, I meant it. It is. I feel like I have Peter Pan syndrome, a perpetual girl-woman. Sure, I go to university - but only for three days a week. I work one day. What do I do with the rest of my time? Piss it up the wall, in a manner of speaking. I feel like I don't have anything of any importance to do (and I'm not talking about the kind of importance of reading the book for Gothic Genres & Contested Spaces in time for the lecture and tutorial. I mean important stuff). I don't have a relationship/marriage to nurture, or a child to take care of, or a house to maintain. Not even a super-exciting project to develop. Nada.

I pinned the above picture on Pinterest a while back and there were a few "Oh, snap!" comments but there was one smug bitch who wrote "Not when you have babies :)" and even though I'm not desperate to have children, I envy her sense of purpose.

Sidenote, last week an old family friend was visiting and, eavesdropping once again, I heard her say to my mother something about when I have kids, and Mum said, "I don't think Annelise will be having any children." And it really made me think. I think Mum said it more of a way to put a stop to the inevitable follow-up of further enquires and subsequent problem-fixing of The State of Annelise's Life, What She's Doing Wrong and How Best to Fix It, rather than any actual belief that I won't procreate (or did she ... ?) but it still made me think. I relayed the information to my cousin when we were out celebrating St Patrick's Day, while musing (again) about being 32, single with no prospects, and he dismissed me with a happy wave of his hand (there was beer involved), saying, "Pah! You could get pregnant tonight!" (N.B.I did not attempt to.)

It is true though, you never know what's around the corner. You don't. But what if there isn't anything around the corner? Who says there has to be? What if there's not? Or what if the corner takes a fucking long time to get to? Which it is, it's definitely taking an age to trudge along this street to reach the corner.

But seriously. It's not about babies or finding The One (or pehaps it is, I don't know), it's about purpose. Intention. The point. And my lacking. How does one find their purpose? And exactly how long does that take? At the moment, I feel like I'm existing, but not really living. And that's a damn waste.

Don't think I'm feeling depressed and want to end it all because I'm not and I certainly don't. In fact, I'm feeling quite cheerful about it. I mean, come on, an existential crisis? How delightfully wanky! But also, questioning my existence should surely lead to some positive discoveries. Hopefully, touch wood.

Also, oddly, I checked my horoscope while at the salon yesterday. No matter that the magazine was from last month, something stood out enough for me to reach into my bag for my notebook and pen, and write down the following:

You have moved in a peculiar alternative reality for years, when confusion was only a step away.

Now, bugger me if I know what that really means but peculiar alternative reality took my fancy. And I think the gist of the horoscope was that the time has come to start questioning everything. The words stayed with me all night and I checked another horoscope today and it said:

Expect the spend the next four weeks doing some deep thinking about your past and how it got you to where you are now.

So yay! My existential crisis should, by all accounts, be resolved by 24 April 2012, at approximately 2.04pm.

In all seriousness, I think this is part of the funk I was talking about in my last post. When in Vietnam, I felt a strong sense of 'rich, Western, white person guilt', even though by Western standards, I most definitely cannot be considered rich, and I didn't like it. It made me think I should be doing more. Something with more purpose. More purpose.