Currently in the process of pushing past the fatigue in order to get whatever this will be written. There is something stirring in me but I am yet to grasp as to what it is. It has no form, no shape, yet it is there and it is distinct. It needs to get out. No; it desires to get out. I am not the right conduit for its translation into words and I don’t know as to why I am the one who needs to do this, but whatever it is that is looking to get out and escape from me and thus enter the world at large has chosen me, or something. I don’t know; I’m making this all up as I go along and I need you to pretend that I am not.
So anyway, there is this thing inside of me and I sit down and I am sitting right now. Sitting is what I am doing and I am typing whilst trying tog et this thing out as it is in the word format of which I choose to use as the medium of expression in order to get the thing out, but I don’t know if it will or will not work. There is a crossroads but all choices look equally unclear, if that makes sense. I think it makes sense and I hope it makes sense. If it does not, then I don’t know what to do other than continue my work in solitude and hope that the end result allows me to walk free.
If I am forever chained to this desk until I am able to get the thing out, then I really don’t know as to what I’ll do. I guess I’ll just take some sort of solitude in the fact that something is certain in my encroaching future. At least I know that somehow this thing inside of me will make sure that I keep going until it is finally out and purged like a bad smell stuck in a carpet, or something. That would be nice. Then of course I will need to be able to get away from it. If I can’t get away from it, then perhaps there was no getting away in the first place. Would rather the getting away than keeping it close for the rest of my life. Would rather walk away from the whole thing.
However, if I cannot, then it simply is my fate to continue doing the thing until the thing is done. I don’t know if that means summoning more stuff from nothing. I don’t know what that means at all, to be honest. However, perhaps it is something that I need to do. Would rather not, but sometimes that is the way things go and as such it is only fair for me to keep going.
Well, I could do that. I could also just stop and not worry and get back to doing other things that I do.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 05:37:26
This… this started off with me aiming to write some sort of thing about being tired. Then it ended up some sort of fiction-type thing. Then it kind of went a bit flat.
Written at home.