I do a big stretch and then I get on with it. Whatever it is, it is what I am getting on with.

I have a list of things that I need to finish off and I’m sure that I will tackle some of them in some order. Perhaps the order is yet to be set and perhaps the order does not matter, but there will be an order and that order will reveal itself as something that reveals itself as it reveals itself, in a revealing way.

Maybe there is no point to anything but the point is that I’m trying to scramble for words and put them together in a way that makes sense, then do the other things that I need to take care of that are queued up for the day. Assuming that there is indeed anything else other than that, I will find a way to pile on more things and then when the pile is done being piled on in a manner that lets it look far more organised than it actually is, and maybe that is okay. Maybe that is fine.

Maybe I’m just trying to buy some time.

So I sit here and not there and then I try to pretend to be all philosophical about the whole thing, but there’s nothing to be philosophical about. Actually, there is now that I think about it, but I’m going to keep on pretending that there is nothing to be philosophical about as somehow that makes me move on with the moving and grooving and then I get to say some things that may or may not make sense. So long as the words are in an order that makes sense it matters not. What matters most is that I’m here and I’m doing things but I am doing them far too late in the evening and perhaps it is too late to get much done, but it is what I am doing and I’m a bit like a stubborn person in my refusal to stop and rest, which I guess makes me a stubborn person who refuses to stop and rest so I don’t know as to where I’m going with that one.

At the end of it all I think that I’ve not much else to squeeze out of all of this, but I’m sure that with enough ashing I’ll find something else. I still have quite a few words to go and so I need to get to the end of this somehow but I don’t want to be stretching too much, though with that said I do have to admit that stretching is good. It is good to remember to stretch and it is good to remember that one’s limbs exist and need stretching on the odd occasion. Sometimes the regular occasion too.

I think I’ve stretched as far as I can so I guess I need to wrap this up. That said, I’m not sure which words to use.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 04:55:55

A messy ramble full of mess and rambling.
Empty, and so on and so forth.
That said, it has a certain flow. An awkward and rough flow, but certainly one.

Written at home.