Proust
Writing by Proust
Sometimes I worry.
Will I like it there? Will they like me? Over here, I have my friends, we hang out, a lot, play poker, drink coffee. Or cocktails. Or beer. Will there be people to do stuff with, go shopping, drink coffee? Or any of the other stuff? Will I still have work? Do I even need a job? I’ve just sold my website. It was a dating site, I loved it, but I’d had it for a few years and the time had come to move on, really. I hadn’t quite figured out what to do next when two guys came along and offered to buy it and before I knew it I was free as a bird with money in the bank. Not the kind of money that has me dripping in diamonds, but enough to not have to work for a year or two.
So now what? What to do when you can do anything you want? Well, that’s why I thought setting myself three goals would be good. I’ve done this before and it really works: I promised myself I would finish the entire A la recherche des temps perdu before my thirtieth birthday and indeed, the night before I turned thirty I read the last page.
So I need new goals, I want to finish the Essays of Montaigne before I turn forty, but that’s years away. I need some short term goals, what to do with my lovely freedom the next year? Well, I’m a writer, I write movie reviews and tv related stuff and for extra cash I write stuff for corporate websites. Not my passion, but I am GOOD. I enjoy doing stuff I’m good at, so even if writing about IT solutions or international law is not my dream, I get the satisfaction of doing it well. So this next year, I will have to knit a sock, read War & Peace and write a book. Should be doable.
knitting, the beginning
