Time in a box

When time becomes unimportant, something that’s not real. When it becomes one of those trees you see flying by outside the window when you’re sitting on a train… When it doesn’t matter if you leave you’re bed in the morning or if you have a job to go to.
That’s when you start to questioning you’re existence. When you start wondering… is this real? And what is my purpose.
If I’m depressed? Hell no! In one way it’s liberating just shutting down your mind for a moment of time. Say hey man… I am taking a break from life.
But is it healthy?

At this time I’ve been sick laying in my bed for three days looking at the sealing with no thoughts what so ever, kind of looked at movies even if I didn’t really saw them and been sitting on the toilet.
Sitting on the toilet can be one of the most boring things you can do when you go there about fifteen times a night and about the double during the day.
Thoughts that crossed my mind during one of these times:

What if someone saw me right now?
Am I sitting the right way?
Is this a weird smell?
What is Angelina wearing on the academy awards.
How long have I been in here?
Can they hear me?

I’m feeling better now. A lot better. I can sit up, I can eat, and I can talk to people without sounding like a dying sad little crack whore. But I have still not left the apartment in like three or four days. Have hardly been talking to anybody and for sure haven’t been thinking for a second.

Time for me right now is an illusion, something that doesn’t matter. It don’t really matter which city I’m in. Which month it is or what time it is..
Time is something that slipped away… I just don’t care.
We live in our own little fantasy world. Me, Danny, Maria and Anna. We and the boys here are living here in our apartment in the centre of Sydney doing nothing. Cocking dinner, sleeping, watching movies…
Our own fantasy… nobody cares about jobs. Nobody cares about money. About anything.
About time.

I’ve lost track of time.

Nothing really matters!

Someone said to me in Asia that nothing really matters. That made no sense to me at all… In my life everything matters.
The money is about to run out. We have no jobs and there are not really any jobs to get here in the city. Everyone here is running around, looking for something to do. Looking for a purpose.
Our days here at the moment are filled with DVD watching, pasta, coffee and reading books. And everything takes place in our shared little apartment.
The air con makes my body feel heavy, dehydrated. Makes me feel weak.

So today we woke up from our cave and went out. Sitting in Darling harbour, talking about our situation actually made everything better. The fresh air made me think clearly and suddenly it made sense.
Nothing really matters. If we spend our money having fun and get broke we just go fruit picking. If we don’t get jobs at the harvest trail we go further up north. If we can’t make it there we just go home. It doesn’t matter what happens. It’s no point of spending your days traveling worrying about things you can’t control. So from now on I’m not going to worry anymore.
As my friend once said…

Nothing matters. Nothing really matters.

My head is empty!

I feel like a massive floating head. A heavy head that's floating around with no purpose what so ever...

I feel like the crazy girl that just walked over the street on Taylor square screaming after her unborn child!

I am a head.

I am Charlies head in a box! Remember.. life's a box of chocolate.. and it's soon to be empty.

I am Charlie, this is my head! This is how I see my life!

New life, new city.

When you move to a city with the intention of not just visiting but to live there, it’s something strange happening with the way you live your life.
Back home it’s not really hard to do nothing. To wait for the weekend to pass so you can go to the bank and arrange your account, get your tax number…
I’m walking the streets of Sydney with no plan, with no idea of what I’m actually doing here. I love it.. I love the vibe of the city. But I have no idea..
As a regular tourist you spend your day walking around looking at things.. Doing exciting stuff like spending money on a festival, going on a boat trip to look at dolphins, climb a mountain or drink martinis on a rooftop bar with no spending limit. You have a certain amount of days to have the best time in your life…
I have a certain amount of time to start my life until my money runs out.
I didn’t come here to be a tourist; I came to start a life. To live here like I lived back home.

But when I was without work back home I enjoyed staying home in my apartment doing nothing. Go for a coffee with friends. Here… It’s not really the same.
It’s not really the same when you’re staying in a guesthouse with five other people in the same room. When you don’t have your friends around or when you don’t know when your next paycheck will come.
At any time I might be forced to leave this place. Forced to pack my bags and move yet again. Move to the cold and to familiar place I call home.
I’m not ready to go home… not yet.
So I keep wandering the streets with no clue. Because right now I’d rather do that here, than back in Gothenburg.
Nothing ever lasts…

This is Charlies roaring insides. This is my panic. It’s all happening!