Writing Aloud: Existential Angst And Other Trivial Crap

Indecision – makes it hard to get things done.

One of the chief consolations in my dreary and sometimes strenuous and very occasionally exigent day is that there will be time at the end of it – when I am home and the cat has eaten what he wants of his first afternoon tea, and plants in the front yard have been watered, and the cat has possibly been rescued from the upper reaches of a tree, or even the roof of the house, if the mood has taken him to place himself in those positions, and I have come back inside, and am possibly even wearing a silly hat (as I am now) – for writing. I’ll be able to write later, I think. That’ll be good. I look forward to it. The idea of it seems liberating and somehow the burdens weighing mind and soul are lighter. It gets me through the day.

But I get to this point and feel bereft. And that word has been employed with some care – it’s not just as if something creative refuses to happen; it’s as if something is gone, lost, has died. And that’s not a happy thought.

I’m tired, obviously. I’ve been tired since high school, I suppose. Maybe it started before then. Not sure, and it’s not too important anyway. But fatigue doesn’t help when you wish to do something that requires freshness and energy.

But maybe that isn’t the whole story. For there is energy to do things I want to do – internet ‘research’ for example – and that begs the question: does it seem difficult to sit here and write something because I just don’t want to do it? I don’t think so. Writing is hard to do, in pretty much any situation or in any circumstances. Many people who make a living from writing don’t enjoy it or consider it a grind. And maybe that’s it – it’s hard and I don’t feel like doing something that’s hard.

I’m tired (which sounds like a whinge I heard recently … oh, that’s right – I wrote it, above). Pretty simple really – in the mood to do something easy and not involving complex, abstract thought. I’m lazy. Did I really not know that before this thinking/writing aloud session? Jesus!

With such blinding realisations I should go on TV quiz shows, if there are any with questions like: “The Sun rises at a) dawn, or b) dusk?”

I actually feel very slightly mopey now. I just found myself feeling sorry for Prince Harry (or was it jealous of him? – internet ‘research’ you see: it doesn’t necessarily use higher order cognitive function) – and I don’t really give a rat’s arse about Prince Harry. Or maybe I do a bit. Maybe I really want him to get together properly with Chelsy. Maybe I just find it amusing that this party boy has to be so in control and proper when it’s clear he’d prefer to be doing naughty things. Or perhaps that should be he’d prefer to be doing more naughty things: enjoying himself as a normal young man, away from press scrutiny. I actually think Chelsy is a pretty stupid spelling. And although another royal wedding would be interesting for so many historical and traditional reasons, and because of protocol and custom and so on, I don’t really care. I care that Harry is an Arsenal fan. That’s important. Few other things are. All is confusion and disorder at the moment. My priorities have become mixed up and I am now writing about things which do not concern me. A good book ought to help: like a dose of quality brain medicine. Like Boxer from Animal Farm I will work harder. And harder on writing more and better too.

Thank you for listening.

Published in: on May 3, 2011 at 8:24 pm  Leave a Comment  

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