It’s the 8th of November now and the birthday is truly over. Enough time has passed and enough gifts have been received that all the leftover lingering birthdayness might die. It was a nice birthday, overall Zonk. But I’m not too sad to see it go. There’s only one thing I want to tell you about being twenty-four (oh horrible number!), and I just deleted three whole paragraphs of post in order to stick to the point.
So, here goes.
- C and co. bought me a recorder for my birthday – an incredible fucking gift that I didn’t think anybody would actually bother to buy me – and it’s unbelievably brilliant. I recorded properly for the first time yesterday and I’ve never heard myself so clearly before. The sound is warm and resonant and rich. Like playing in a small, bare room with wooden floors and loads of sun. I’m going to learn to record properly on it, and I’m going to learn some basic production too. And if any of this ever leads to anything, then I will owe C one more major skill.
- One of the Kunals got me a Moleskine. My first Moleskine. It’s a lovely, bright red and it’s ruled. I’m seriously grateful that it’s not unruled, because I don’t think I need the pressure of having yet another sketchbook to have to fill up. What I do like is having a bright red book to write special stuff in. With my ink pen. Things like songs or stories or ideas or lists or plans. Things I don’t necessarily need to tell anyone anywhere else.
- I got home with my red Moleskine and found that T had dispatched the annual birthday parcel, and in it was another Moleskine. Two Moleskines in a day! What are the chances of that. But this one is a music journal. It has spaces for me to put down all sorts of music things, like lyrics or playlists or memories of gigs and songs and things. And, the best bit is, it has a lot of stickers in the back that say things like ‘hate this’, ‘love this’, ‘concert’, etc. I love the idea of making a journal with stickers. And I’ve planned to include a lot about my first year with my recorder in the journal.
I’m twenty-four now. And I still don’t know what I’m doing with my life, how it’s going to turn out or if it’ll be any good. But I do know that I’ve begun to think more seriously about these things, and at the very least I know what it is that I don’t want. I know I don’t want to be working a day job five years from now. And I know that I want to be doing more than one specific thing. And I’m going to try and figure out the next step and save up for it, whatever it might be.
Last birthday, I got a violin. This birthday, I get a recorder, and journal to write about it in, and a notebook to write everything else in. I wonder what it all means, or if it means anything at all. I wonder if we aren’t all just doing the wrong thing while the right things stare us in the face and wilt and flop around. I wonder where I’ll be at this time next year, and the year after that, and after that and after that. I wonder what I’ll be doing with my time and how I’ll feel about it. And I wonder if I’ll be happier. And wiser than I am now.
Love and mild confusion,