Everything to do, Nothing to say

Hello Again.
This is the first time for a long time that I've decided just to sit and write, 'stream of consciousness' style. I usually plan my posts well in advance, think through all I want to say, complete my thoughts. However, it has been far too long since I've been able to compose a single thought, so here goes.
I haven't felt like talking very much recently, as the title might suggest. I don't know why this happens at times when I'm really quite busy or stressed, but I always seem to lack the ability to talk openly when I most need to. It can be quite a struggle, which is why (I think) I've resorted to posting song lyrics and poems, because they say better what I want to say than I can myself. Maybe it's that I get so overwhelmed when I'm in a time of stress or dispondancy that I don't want to engage my brain on the subject, just let the situation drift away. I know this isn't the correct approach, I know it does me more harm than good, but it's been a habit that I've been in for such a long time, I guess since my father died, that it's quite a struggle to break. Actually, thinking back, I can recall times when I've just come through a difficult patch, and I look back and think, "what the hell just happened?" This happened to me in the last month of my last year at Kingston. I had a lot of work to do and too few hours. I didn't sleep much, but that's most of what I can recall on my own. Later, say about a year later, my ex-girlfriend (we split up soon after I finished at Kingston) was reminiscing with me about that period and revealed to me my own behaviour. She didn't know that I was mostly unaware of the details of those few months and I found myself quite ashamed by what she told me. I apologised for a good few months after that, despite the fact that she had put it in the past, but it was still a little too fresh for me. I still feel most ashamed for that period.
Most of my close friends will also know that I have lost memory of the three years after my father died. I can remember vague details, but otherwise, it is a time-vacuum, where I am still unaware of what happened in that period. I wonder if these situations are a product of my inability to deal with things as they happen? You'd be amazed by how much time can disappear when you don't mentally engage with what's happening in your life. I've been trying to change that and I hope I can get out of the habit of disengaging when things get too much for me.
So where am I now? I guess I'm busy. It's been a month and a bit since I left London for home. It's not been awesome. This, you understand, is no reflection on the house in which I live, or my mother. It's a place I have returned to twice now after university and it feels like a regression. It's a mental thing, I guess. I have changed since last year, but coming home is hard because it begins to put you back where you once were. Especially in my relationship with God. Home is a place where I have not done so well in the past, for one reason or another, so it puts a real strain on that relationship. The fact that my relationship with God can be location-dependent kind of worries me. It kind of implies that my relationship with God is not as deep as I thought. Actaully, any Christian brothers and sisters out there would be most welcome to pray about that for me. I need a 'little help from my friends'.
A slight newsflash, but I'm hesitant to mention it, because I don't like it. I have a temporary job. I work in the Swan pub in Thatcham as of 11:30am today, which at least gives me some money, but a bit of a body-blow to my self-esteem. Actually, that's a bit unfair. I'm sorry, I may have offended any friends who have worked in a pub full-time before (Kelly), but it's not quite what I expected I'd be doing. Needless to say, I am continuing in my relentless jobsearch.
So that's it, I guess, for the time being. As much as I have stuff to say, I imagine I shouldn't force it. I shall spill my guts again in due time...

Expostulation and Reply

'Why, William, on that grey stone,
Thus for the length of half a day,
Why, William, sit you thus alone,
And dream your time away?

'Where are your books? - That light bequeathed
To beings else forlorn and blind!
Up! up! and drink the spirit breathed
From dead men to their kind.

'You look round on your Mother Earth,
As if she for no purpose bore you;
As if you were her first-born birth,
And none had lived before you!'

One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake,
When life was sweet, I knew not why,
To me my good friend Matthew spake,
And thus I made reply;

'The eye - it cannot choose but see;
We cannot bid the ear be still;
Our bodies feel, where'er they be,
Against or with our will.

'Nor less I deem that there are Powers
Which of themselves our minds impress;
That we can feed this mind of ours
In a wise passiveness.

'Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum
Of things for ever speaking,
That nothing of itself will come,
But we must still be seeking?

'- Then ask not wherefore, here, alone,
Conversing as I may,
I sit upon this old grey stone,
And dream my time away.'