Love songs for no-one

A great job, is one where you can spend 40 minutes legitimately reading poetry, while still getting paid.

Today I read 'The love song of J. Alfred Prufrock' again, after a few years.
In year 12, the stimulus for one of my essays was 'Do I dare disturb the universe?'

There are many lines from this poem that I appreciate. As is to be expected, my understanding of it has changed, just as I have.

'In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall..'

When I think of all the greater moments in my life- the majority were borne out of spontaneous action. Had I not suddenly spoken to that stranger at Uni, or nervously approached a girl from my Primary school, or clicked 'Send' on an application I wasn't sure I was ready for, I would not have met my closest friends, or be in the position that I am in now. And of course let's not forget the craziest moment of abandon- a first kiss.

And yet, au contraire, I HAVE measured out my life with coffee spoons. That is to say, more often than not, things are carefully thought through, planned, revised, written on a list of things to do, and executed. Feelings are spared and harsh words are bitten. Time ticks on. Some days the only thing that can get you out of bed is a cup of coffee, being being awake isn't the same as being 'alive and kicking,' sometimes it's the the beginning of a repetitive monotony that you have come to accept. The morning Hit is a tradition, it's the beginning of the temporal process, it's a measure of the days you have been alive, but not of the days you have lived.

For I have known them all already. I have heard the same stories time and time and time and time again with no relief, with no option of turning my head or drowning out the sound with something louder. I have become trapped in a circle that is not of my own construction or imagination. I wake and fret and feel sick and feel sicker in a cycle, where I can see the days of my existence passing me by in quick succession, but it is still too slow. There's something wrong when you can anticipate unhappiness. I've never been afraid of change, I'm afraid that change will never come. The dying fall has been stretched out too long, I don't think I can hear anything else.


Human voices wake us and we drown.