I need to do something today because if I don’t, then I feel I’ll have wasted the whole day and, to be honest, that is not something I feel like feeling at the moment. There are other things to worry about and all that and so I need to get on with this and then that, but of course the struggle is real and so I find myself facing my mortality once more on the off chance that all of this gets done.
Well, this bit of writing, at least.
Will there be more? I can tell you that there certainly won’t be less, but of course it all depends on how much my hands warm up, assuming that they do indeed warm up at all.
I’m making a few assumptions here. Well, maybe I’m not, but let us just pretend that I am. Let us pretend that the cold really is as bad as I pretend it is most of the time. That makes it easier for me to pretend, you see. If I can pretend then I can be more dramatic about it and through that being dramatic, perhaps I can summon the fiction of the real and suddenly it all falls into place as this grand proclamation of all that is amazing finds itself bobbing forward at an unnecessary pace, and I will be able to grapple with it and all that other stuff, but of course I need to make sure that grappling is what I am doing and I am not the one grappled by the fiction. I need to be the one who controls it and makes sure that it goes the way that I want it to go, for if I am not, then I don’t know as to what I will have no control over what is happening and where it is going.
Not sure where I was going with that, but maybe I will continue.
Hang on; perhaps this is a sign that I lack control over the direction of this narrative and it is creating itself through the medium of my hands. Perhaps I really am the slave to the writing and I cannot do anything about it. What do I do now? Where do I go from here?
How many hats do I need to wear before the sheer ludicrousness of the appearance of someone wearing too many hats moves on from being ludicrous to acceptable?
I don’t know the answers to these questions and I know not as to what I shall do from here. It seems as though I am in the corner and the only thing I can do is hope for the best, but hoping will not get me far, so perhaps what it really is that I can do is accept this new reality and just go along for the ride, but of course I have no idea as to where the ride leads, but that doesn’t really matter at this juncture in time.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 05:46:74
I feel this became a little sillier toward the end and I like that.
Written at home.