I need to write something. I’m going stir crazy setting up this website, going through the troubleshooting, and making all kinds of minor adjustments before I throw it all out again. So I need to write a quick word, as a balm, as a salve, or simply to calm myself.
I think of writing a short one-act play. Maybe about some junior coquette, but then I think: “that would probably be a bad idea.”
What of this day? The sun is shining, and I’m alone. I can’t say this is a bad thing. Sometimes I ask for more solitude and greater isolation. To bring about a quieting of the mind, or, simply some kind of stillness. It’s not that my life is very chaotic at the moment, but there always seem to be looming responsibilities, deadlines of one kind or another, and aspirations for the future – half-baked perhaps, or dreamed up in a fervour, in some intoxicating brew where my own existential angst and thoughts of my own mortality mix with the drive for “upwards and onwards”. By that I mean, it’s often out of an anxiousness, a fear that I may be languishing or becoming lazy that I try to take up a new activity. Often it’s to shirk other responsibilities in some kind of way – to be productive, or at least active, and to push to the side what might otherwise be pressing.
But I’m happy to be here and I’m happy to write – to write a few words on the page. Words come easy in the moment, and even if these are old familiar thoughts that I turn over, I’m happy to spend time with them. With that however, casting a glance at what once was once fluid and effortless, I think it’s time to put this post to and end. I’ve noticed and become aware, and what was once natural may give way to affectation and a stilted style, full of overwrought prose and tangled equivocations.