Bit of a lost day, today, but I’m getting on with it. Still have some time before I need to make myself present in other spaces. Still can do get some things done. Can’t waste tomorrow, so I’ve wasted today, I guess. Need sleep or something.

A fine day to spend doing nothing, and also a fine day to spend feeling tired as, but it wasn’t. There needed to be work done, but it wasn’t, so that’s all tomorrow. Tomorrow will be the big cram day, and I’ll get through it somehow. For now, however, it’s time to listen to something heavy and ominous, so I will.

The birds outside? Pretty. The vague sounds of traffic? Annoying. They all lack the punch that comes from the melding of sounds into a lurking, lurching and creaking boat. They lack that certain uncertainty and unease that comes from not knowing what is going on and how whatever it is is going to happen.

I have no idea what I’m saying with this.

I think I might actually be tapped out. I think I may have finally reached the end of my creativity. I think that, if I don’t try and do something about this, then this really is it. There’s nothing else to say. What do I say about that? How do I say anything about that? Do I even try?

This is like something that is really horrible. I can’t even. I literally cannot even right now. But I have to accept it. It has all floated away, down the river that was far beyond my reach in the first place. Bloody hell. What now? Truly, everything has finally become shit. There’s no going back from this. There’s no turning everything around. There’s no finding the path that leads out of this mess.

Well, I guess it’s time to slip into retirement, or something to that effect. It’s time to start taking it easy for the rest of my years, and by golly, I’ve earned it. There’s no saying otherwise, really. How can you combat that? The ability to be creative has left me, truly, and now I don’t know what else to do. I can finally retire and take it easy and relax. I can finally find out where all the pieces lie and I can go potter about in my garden and read a book and understand what it takes to rest and relax, and sleep in here and there. I can finally do it all, and that truly is the best of all possibilities for me. What else could I even think of doing?

It was a good run, creativity. It was a good run and a good time, but listening to this deep and foreboding music has revealed it all to me, and it just was not to be. As such, there are no more words to write. There are no more tales to spin. That’s all fine and good though. A good, long retirement now awaits.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 06:41:13

Not sure if this should be classified as Fiction instead of Life. Alas.

Written at home.