There’s not much to write about at the moment. I mean, there are some heavier themes I could wade into, but, well, whenever I read those things back I just feel like I’m 14 again, reading my diary from when I was 12 and realising that I was fantastically embarrassing.
As I’ve mentioned before then, that leaves me with the bare metal of reality - reporting precisely what happened to me today, storing up the memory for the future when I scroll back to read it. It’s very dry, isn’t it? Occasionally something silly happens, sometimes profound, sometimes painful. But… like 90% of all my other days, not today. Sigh. I just sat at my desk and worked away on stuff, learned a few quiz facts, went for a walk in the summer drizzle, visited the loo a few times. It was all very typical, all quite Tuesdayish really.
I can’t seem to write poetry either. I’m not sure why there’s such a block on that. It might be me; it might be the state of the world. But then, claiming you can’t write poetry because ‘everything is terrible’ is a bit like complaining that you can’t sunbathe while the sun’s out. No, whatever it is, it’s something to do with me.
Maybe I should delve into some of those ‘heavier themes’ and ask future me (and you) to forgive me. Or perhaps I should just write nothing at all for days on end until I make a fool of myself or have a funny conversation. Or perhaps I should sit for a while and write a song, or some poems, or some other creative thing that conveys how I feel. Yeah maybe. I don’t know.
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