I wrote a whole blog post yesterday about how I wanted to make my flat 'great' again but also couldn't figure out what that meant as greatness suddenly occurred to me as a kind of subjective quantity, the achievement of which could have involved anything and everything from tidying up to knocking a wall down and replacing it with a revolving bookcase or something, an act which might not, in itself, recapture that spurious greatness I referred to in the statement of my initial desire, as the goal was neither specific, measurable, realistic, achievable or time-framed and therefore means almost entirely nothing, notwithstanding a collection of words strung together in a way that sort of sound like it's the right thing to do in order to recapture an undefinable time on the edge of my failing memory, when my flat was indeed 'great', which could have been (depending on your viewpoint) at any point between this morning when I was very much enjoying being in it, last week when it was tidy, last year when it was empty, or a long time ago when it had nothing to do with me whatsoever.
I'm glad I didn't post it.
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