I had been working in the same call centre for precisely one year and eight months. Nobody should ever work in a call centre that long! When I started there my intention was to stay for six months then attempt to find something better/different. Well, I got comfortable and I got complacent. I enjoyed having a pay check at the end of each month and that attempt to find something better/different never came to fruition.
It was an easy job, nothing the average school drop out couldn't handle. Certainly not something that one would want to make a career out of, unless you had literally no other options (In which case, sucks to be you!). For me, it was a stop-gap. A means to an end. A way to ensure a roof over my head and tea in my cup. A way to ensure that I could carry on writing without having to be successful at it (Yet. Or ever. What do I even mean by "successful"?). Suffice to say, anyone who has worked in a call centre will know, it begins to melt your fucking brain after a while. The writing dried up. I went from doing it without "success" to just not doing it. Alas, I have been pretty successful at not doing it.
I have barely put pen to paper at all in the last twelve months. A spurt of creativity came in April when I finished the first draft of To The Sea, but that disappeared as quickly as it arrived. The main problem I have had is that I just don't feel inspired or motivated anymore. I don't have ideas the way I used to. Maybe a "real" writer shouldn't wait for inspiration to strike and should just grit their teeth, sit down and do it. Maybe I am not cut out to be a writer? I don't know. I am hoping that now that my days are not consumed by having to explain shit that I don't care about to a never ending stream of idiots and arseholes, my mind will recover.
The main reason, or rather the "physical" reason, for quitting my job is because I am moving back to my home town. After five years of independence I am moving back in to my family home with my parents. Urgh. Once the novelty of no longer having to worry about paying bills and buying my own food wears off, it is going to suck. The plan is to find a job (Probably in another call centre. Joy.) so that I can save up some money in order to travel to Canada.
Canada is somewhere that I have been drawn to my whole life. I have no idea why. Recently, whatever it is that has been drawing me there feels significantly stronger. The time feels right to get up and go. I will not worry about writing, or wait for inspiration, I am just going to live. Gain some motherfuckin' "life experience". I am only 26, I am in no rush to have everything figured out right away. I don't want the perfect career, or a fucking mortgage, or a family, or whatever. I just want to live. All that other shit is Future Martin's problem. Hopefully he will be more equipped to deal with it than I am right now.
I am not expecting Canada to save me. I am not even sure that I need saving. Whatever happens will happen, and I am ready for it. A sentence that I wrote in a blog post last November seems incredibly fitting right now:
"I will not let fear hold me back. I am lost. I am free. I am alive. Embrace. Believe. Live."
I have a couple of weeks left in Brighton before I move away. I intend to spend that time getting drunk with my friends, going on adventures, going to gigs, and generally just playing silly buggers until my money runs out. Because the only thing that I will miss about my life here is my friends. I have a fair idea about which friendships will stand the test of time and which ones will fade into the recesses of memory. I am not the kind of person that makes friends easily. I am kind of socially awkward and shy (Until I have a few ciders in me, that is) so when I do make a friend, they tend to be for life.