A show that never plays

I was thinking today about how I want to experience absolutely everything. It’s a weird realisation that I won’t be able to. I seem to have this comfort in the back of my head that everything is just a rehearsal or something – it never sets in that this is really the only life I’ll have a shot at.

It stemmed this time from finishing Russell Brand’s Booky Wook (I know, not exactly Shakespeare). I’d read all but the last chapter, in typical me-fashion, and left it sitting on my shelf never to be read again. A change of fate hit this little book today though, as I managed to knock a glass of grape juice over my laptop, rendering it useless for a while. Seeking a non-electrical form of entertainment I turned to my bookshelf, et voilà.

And a part of me wants to have experienced the drug-fuelled haze Mr Brand stumbled through for a good majority of his life. I don’t mean to say he made it seem glamorous in any way, but it’s a way of living. And I seem to believe that somewhere down the line I’ll experience that path.

I’ll live as a junkie and I’ll live straight-edge. I’ll live as a devout Christian and I’ll live as a fervent Atheist. I’ll live eternally depressed and I’ll live infinitely happy. For some reason I seem to have this subconscious belief that I will go through everything. Maybe it’s my way of fighting a fear of mortality, of not being able to change things or get another shot… I don’t know, but it’s a little worrying that it could be what holds me back sometimes.