I don’t know as to why I am doing this right now. I’m thinking about trying to hit the thousand word mark and I don’t even know as to how I’m going to get there.
Not even a tenth of the way as of yet and already I’m feeling the struggle. This is going to be rough and I might even give up part of the way. I don’t know why I’m doing this right now; I should be resting so that I’m alright for work tomorrow. Still, no rest right now as I’m stubborn, but of course maybe there will be rest if I give up.
Why did I just write that? There’s no point in writing it if I give up, but maybe if I don’t give up then it will be seen, or something. Hoping that it somehow creates substance. Hoping that I get to the end of this before my hands decide to give up for the day.
Maybe there is no getting to the end and all of this uncertainty is a sign that it’s all going to go south, or something. The writing will go south and go on holiday and I’ll be stuck here with a mess that I can do little about.
Feeling the struggle quite a fair bit at this point and of course that is not a good thing as I’d rather not be struggling. I want to push on forward and get to the end of this and then move toward doing the other things. I sort of don’t want to be writing at the moment, but I feel compelled to do so, as though it is my nature that I am ignoring. Perhaps there is a bit of hubris in saying that, but that is how I feel at the moment and so I am going to entertain that desire and get on with it, or something.
Well, I guess that answers my initial questioning. It looks like I know why, but is there anything beyond what I’ve already said? I don’t know and I am not going to explore that. In exploring that I might realise something about myself and I don’t want to realise anything at the moment. I would rather turn away frim “I” and go toward “You”, though how I do that from here is only something you can decide. Either that or I work out something else and then go from there and hope for some more of the best, or expect some more of the worst. It’s a difficult thing to try and walk across as the tightrope is loose, but either side is high up and there no real way to get up there unless I climb and I don’t feel like climbing right now. I feel like sleeping, but there are so many more hours to go and I need to stay awake…
So now I don’t know as to what I should say from here, but of course I will still say more stuff so as to express that not knowing as to what it is that I want to say. It’s not that I want to say what I am saying, of course, but I still say it anyway as it is a way to express that I don’t know what to say, therefore making sure that I am providing something clear and concise and you get that clarity as there is little else here that you could get from the stuff that I write. It’s all downward and falling into a hole; never getting out or going anywhere, except for maybe further downward if someone throws in a shovel. Such is the way of the things that I write and such is the way that things go here.
Maybe I should start digging up and get out. I know I’ve covered this before, but maybe I should keep on trying. There’s no harm in trying. There’s no harm in trying to work on improvement. There’s no harm in hope. There certainly is harm in injury, however, but thankfully I currently am not injured, so that’s one less thing to worry about.
Anyway, I think I’m getting away from the point, of which there is not one. All this is is bemoaning my fate in doing this bit of writing that I don’t know why I’m doing and worrying about not being able to get to a target amount of words, of which probably is not a valid concern, but that’s the way it goes sometimes so therefore I should stop worrying about the thing and just get on with it so that I get to the end and then worry no more. I can then review and reflect on the thing that I created and wonder as to how that path to improvement will reveal itself.
Still, I shall struggle on until that point. This bit of writing is a struggle and I am struggling but not really, but also at the same time I am in some sort of convoluted twisting that I am making up for myself as… well, I guess that’s just what I’ve done this time around. Not the worst thing in the world, but the struggle is as real as it is unreal and I’m getting there, but only barely. Maybe I’ll get to the end of this sooner rather than later, but I dread reading over it as I’ll need to in order to fix some of the spelling.
Still, this struggle may have been worthwhile. It’s not the worst thing I’ve experienced. I’ve experienced far worse things out there, so I’m not overly fussed if I am to be honest. Kind of am, but can brush it off, just like the rest of this writing, of which has no substance to it, nor any strong argument to support its existence.
Oh well. It has been a ride; a comfortable one with few turns, but still, the tank will need fuel.
The time it took to write one thousand words: 12:37:72
This isn’t the worst thing I’ve written, and that’s fine. Not the best either.
I feel as though this was brain exercise, if that makes sense.
Written at home.