I don’t know what to write at the moment. I want to write. I’ve wanted to write for a while. I’ve wanted to write something that has meaning and intent. I’ve said this a few times and I’ll keep saying it as that’s what I want to do, but I don’t know if I have it in my. Still, I try.

I’m ignoring the essay drafts I have when I say this. I mean in terms of this rush to get words out. This is where I want to write something with meaning. Something that says something that might just appeal to people. That has some poignancy that might just make someone feel something. Perhaps a form of relation; that there are others going through the same shit as them at the same time as them. I don’t know.

I don’t set out to write for attention or praise. I don’t write for money, though it definitely would be nice if I got money from my writing. But all that, sometimes I do wish my writing had greater appeal. Sometimes I wish my writing was more relational, or at least not obtusely relational. Sometimes I do wish I had that appeal.

I’m off my feet at the moment due to hurting myself on Saturday. I drove up to Hornsby to have lunch with two of my ex’s friends. They recently had a baby, I wanted to catch up with them. Hadn’t seen them since some time last year.

They said I seemed happier and less drained than whilst I was with my ex, and I appreciate that this is something a lot of people I know have seen in me, but it still makes me sad a little. But it was a good lunch and a good time, and I’ll see them again some time.

My plans for after were cancelled, and a friend of mine was at Oz Comic-Con. I was considering going after the lunch, but it was fifty dollars a ticket and I wouldn’t have had much time when I got there. I’ve wanted to go to Supernova for a while and keep forgetting. Think I wanted to go before I went to Tokyo Game Show back in 2015, but I know I did after. But I didn’t go to this convention, but I did go to Sydney Olympic Park, where it was held, for a walk.

The walk was fine. Nothing worth talking about. Bit of sadness, bit of pleasantness. Usual. When I was walking back and near the car, I felt a twinge in my right foot. Another step, another twinge. May have been a third. Not sure, but it passed and I forgot about it. Come yesterday and I was in pain with every step and so I’ve been off my feet since yesterday, and housebound too, though I guess that goes without saying.

My steps weren’t any different from usual. I was walking normally and this happened, and now I’m dealing with grief and it’s not fun. I’m dealing with grief over someone that, at least from the view of my friends, was not good for my health and ability to function, and these things take time. But it’s also making me grieve my writing, too. Or at least grieve what my writing could be and is not.

So I’m stuck at home and I have no choice but to think about stuff. I mean, I could think about other things, but that’s not how these things go, usually. I’m here at home, living with my thoughts, hoping they go away. I’m thinking of the friends I’ve lost this year and how I’m doing better without them in my life, and I’m thinking about how I can do better with my writing. But I don’t know when the thoughts move on from the loop they’re in. That’s the main issue I have; that I’m stuck and I’m waiting to be able to move on properly. Because I’ve let everything hurt and it still hurts. These things take time, but I’m tired of it.

I want to paint my images. I want to use my words. I want to find where things go and I want to be able to properly follow them again. I want to be able to look at the stars and not feel like shit. I never really got to look at stars with my ex, and I doubt that it’ll happen at this point, but I know that I can look at them and find something in them that I can write about. Something that I can put into words that’ll make sense and say something. I want to use my words well. I want to use them in a way that’s better than I previously have, and it takes time. It takes time and it hurts as I’ve felt stuck for so long.

The start of this year was slow, but it was building up steam. I was getting onto a roll. I was getting things written and I was gaining traction in a new space. Then I was dumped and everything came to a halt. I’m not blaming my ex for my inability to write. It’s just a result of something that I found to be heavily stressful and affecting. That’s the way things go sometimes. What can I do. It just sucks that finally something was happening and then it wasn’t.

If photography and music are coming back to me, then writing will as well. I can live with that. Maybe I can keep working on getting better and I will, but I also want to be able to say something in these masses of words. I don’t want to just in essay format. But sometimes you don’t get a say in what comes forward and so you just have to work with what you have. You have to work it and make it something that you can stand behind, and I’ll keep working what I have.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 16:08:54

I know what I was trying to say here and I think it came through. Took too many words, but I think I got it out.

Written at home.