Hi, my name is Robert and I’m addicted to stories.
You can chart the things I write on this blog by what books I’ve been reading and what movies I’ve been watching. I’ve been reading about love and so the last few posts have been about love. Before that, I was reading about something else and my posts were about that thing. And before that and before that until you get back to when I was born and my parents started to fill me with their stuff.
I work nine to five and in the cracks between that, I fill my head with stories about other people’s lives.
If I stopped sucking on the story-teat then where would I be, though?
Today, at work I spoke to a dozen people and more about all sorts of things. One person asked me about spreadsheets, another gave me a recipe for soda bread, another helped me with my presentation, another told me about a job that was coming up in her department, another talked to me about my worth as a person, another said that I would be missed at the team Xmas party and said that he would buy me lunch, another and another and another; enough to make up a life if I let it be one.
But then, when I stopped working and went home, I stopped living.
I cooked a meal with my wife and we sat and ate it and she went off to live her life upstairs and I started watching another movie downstairs while I washed the dishes. And then the pots were all watched and I started another movie and had a piece of chocolate and had a cup of tea and typed this on my blog and then I’ll watch another movie and read a book and listen to some music and learn a little Hindi and then it’s going to be time for bed and my life, that has been lived in the middle of another person’s invented world, will be over for another day.
Where’s my own life?