It's been a while, but I reckoned since it was prime time in my writing capacity (late at Saturday night, when most normal people are either in bed or out enjoying themselves) I should write an entry.

Not a lot has happened since I last wrote; I wrote a new song (first one in three years), I haven't had any romances worth talking of, and my life has generally stagnated both in terms of work, socially and in terms of ambition. The Canadian dreams are still there and in earnest - one of few things driving me on at the moment, actually. But the realisation is nowhere near yet. Yet it's required in order for my life to progress. A hiatus of a few years beckons.

One of the main things that I have developed has been a desire to read. I'm partway through Sue Townsend's Adrian Mole series, which keeps me sane from time to time. When on holiday, I also read Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh (and found it fascinating to compare it to the cinematic version) and Touching From A Distance, by Debbie Curtis. Difficult to believe that Ian had achieved so much (and had so much to fulfil) when he was my age. Makes my own shortcomings all the more evident.

Combined with the Mole books, I'm also trying to watch some light comedy on TV to keep my mood as enhanced as possible. Frasier normally takes up most of the time; it takes me back to my school days, when I would watch it on a Friday night while all my "friends" hung out at someone's house, not inviting me along. Happier times. It's a similar situation these days; everyone else is out with partners, or other friends, and I'm consigned to footnote status - the parts that nobody reads, or indeed cares about.

Despite the shortcomings, I still have highs to mix in with the lows. At times, I find the ability to have a smile and a laugh, and it even seems real at the time. The shyness, awkwardness, and even ugliness still persist, however, and this is illustrated no clearer than during times of solitude. The Canadian affair could be an answer, but it could be too late by that time.

The question remains: how bad must life be for death to look a more attractive alternative? I don't believe that time will ever come, but there's certainly an understanding (potentially even a sympathy) for the other perspective. Things can only progress - it's a question of when.