I sat here for a while, trying to work out what it was that I was going to write about. I wasn’t sure as to which direction I could go; nor was I sure that there were any ideas left over that I could make use of.
Well, there were some, but they kept getting pushed to the side. There were other things that I wanted to worry about, such as doing as little as possible.
When I’d go to write I’d find something else to do, wanting to put it all off rather than just sit there and do the thing and so very little as done for a good part of the day. of course this was something rather detrimental, but I just wanted to put it all off and forget that any of it existed. I just wanted to do nothing, but there was everything waiting and of course the only way to get into it all was by… well, getting into it all.
However, that was just something pushed off to the side. Perhaps it was the lack of ideas that led to the procrastination, though really it was just the refusing to commit to sit down and do something and of course I only had to hold myself responsible for my inaction. Still, it was something that I reveled in, even if it was not something I was aware I was reveling in.
And so the day was wasted and little to nothing was worked upon, but at least there was relaxation and relaxation was always a desired thing to have. After a hard day of doing very little, doing very little was increasingly welcome.
Still, I sat there trying to think of something that might be able to be completed. Some sort of spark that could lead to some sort of act of genius that would be difficult to capture in any other way. I sat there, thinking, thinking and thinking, but nothing came. I tried to muster up what was there, but instead of something that could be nurtured and grown, no idea came. Sure, I could have written and put something down and then tried to grow that; start with no idea and then see what comes out the more I worked on it, but that was not something I wanted to do for I didn’t feel that was a path worth traveling.
Of course that was a silly way of thinking and feeling about the whole idea of writing, but that was how I felt and perhaps had I not, I may have achieved a bit more a bit sooner with a bit less time wasted. Still, the relaxation was desired and fulfilling in the way that empty laziness often is, and it was great in the way that not doing anything when you have the time to do so is great. Lingering feelings lingered and pressure mounted, but still I kept on relaxing until it was time to relax elsewhere.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 06:02:22
I was trying to write someth8ing firmly based in reality and this is what came from that attempt.
A bit too much repetition. I think some of this is alright, but the repetition brings this down quite a lot.
Written at home.