Nice And Simple

I need a new profile picture as the current one seems to be of a man who is very unsure of himself and life in general or has maybe just found something unpleasant in his pocket. New year, new profile pic. Out with the old, in with the new, and all that. Except I can’t find one that I like, none that I own anyway. I know which one I want though. A friend has it. It’s me in a black hoodie with a maniacal look in my eyes and a sky that wouldn’t look out of place over Mordor. Except the weather is probably better in Mordor since the photo was taken at Glastonbury Festival where God, for the last few years, seems to have taken exception to all of the pagan fun going on and has punished us with rain and mud.

Glastonbury is a long way off yet but I have to look forward in order to keep myself sane during the joyless month of January. If I could hibernate for just a few weeks I would, just until payday. I’d wake up and find that the mood of the nation had recovered from the post-Christmas comedown and its related cash flow issues and I’d be happy because then I could start socialising again. Not that I’m in a bad mood. I’m a bit hard up until I get paid and have settled nicely into doing nothing. I won’t entertain any notion of frivolity until January 28th. I have a friend who’s planning a birthday night out in London just after that time but I’ve declined my invitation even though it’ll be fun. Ask me again on the 28th. I’ll still say no though.

As it is I can generally be found sitting at home, reading. I’m already on my sixth book this year, such is my inertia right now. I’m reading Cormac McCarthy’s The Road and it’s brilliant. Apart from the heart-rending story itself I like the economy of language. I like it when writers resist the urge to show us how many smart words they know. That’s why I don’t really appreciate, for example, John Updike. I always get the feeling that he’s writing partly in order to show the world how clever he is. He makes me feel inferior so maybe the problem lies with my own self-esteem. That’s probably it, although I don’t feel so mediocre when I read Philip Roth. Or Paul Auster, even though he’s another smart-arse.

I’m really bored, can anyone tell? I’m sitting here, rambling on about nothing and no-one in a completely inconsequential manner. I feel compelled to write, but why? I have absolutely nothing to offer, it’s just the ramblings of a man lacking the wit to utilise his considerable thinking time in a creative manner. Sigh. Roll on February. My brain will start working then. You’ll see.

So. What fun things can I do this year? What can I start planning once January is banished? A few music festivals in the summer. A weekend in Iceland in the spring. I might buy a car. I haven’t had one for four years now. That’s about it and I’m happy with that. I don’t like having too many things to look forward to. I get nervous. I always worry about what will go wrong, and the more events I have planned then the more things there are to fret over. Best to keep things nice and simple. That’s me. Nice and simple.

EDIT

My good friend James has just emailed me the profile picture that I mentioned in the first paragraph. I didn't even ask him, he just read this yesterday and knew exactly which photo I meant. What a lovely guy, eh? My profile picture now shows me looking suitably diabolical. Excellent.