Catalogued thinking

I was just flicking through a clothing catalogue – H&M have decided that since I bought a hoodie off them for £7 (which gets black fluff all over my clothes like a BASTARD) it’s their sole duty to send me dead tree laced with images of improbably attractive people in pants staring at me – when it dawned on me I’m sat at my computer, where I could access all of their catalogue as I saw fit, as well as the catalogue of any other shop I saw fit.

To head it off at the pass, I see print as having a place, I still love magazines and blah de blah. But something made for purely mechanical, functional reasons still existing in this fashion has amused me ever so slightly.

Then I started thinking about other concepts I find rather outdated and somewhat pointless, and it got me onto thinking about buying houses and settling down and all that mad shit that’s prescribed for you before you even exist, let alone are old enough to default on a mortgage. And I laughed.

But then I started thinking about why I was laughing and wondered – aloud, to some extent – if this laughter was actually a result of my own denial; of my own recognition of my failures to do what ‘real people’ do in life. To think my parents and the parents of many others had settled down with a family by this age. To think more and more of my friends of a similar age are doing the same. To see people who actively plan for these eventualities from what I see as a shockingly young age. I have done none of this, and I see none of it in my future.

Then I started thinking of the future, of where it could take me and what I could do. I thought of my debts – lessened thanks to recent generosity, but not totally dead – and how they hold me back. I thought of easy blame, and how I apportion my lack of motivation and willingness to do anything really interesting or involved with my life to silly things like ‘debts’. I thought of ruts, and being in them. Books, and how if I’d actually sent my horse book to publishers I would have had responses months ago, rather than sending it now and having to wait months.

I thought and I thought and the train went on and on and it went deep and it went sad and it barely went happy and it was derailed by making some coffee but it came back strong and it thought and it took on a mind of its own and it thought for itself and it made its decisions and it looked like simply sitting and thinking and wondering and hoping and dreaming was going to be the end of me.

So I just went back to staring at women in their skimpies in the H&M catalogue, because life is easier in the lingerie section.


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