Okay so this is a bad idea, but right now I’m wondering as to how many words in one month I can write. It doesn’t matter as to what the content is; it just depends on how much I can write in one month.

Would stuff that’s half-finished count? I don’t know. I’d hope so. But it was written in another month and not this one, so maybe not. But still, I think I could clear quite a lot. I reckon I could. I’d probably give up after a few days, but maybe I can do something that intense. That pointlessly intense.

It’s an exercise in indulgence, in a sense. An exercise in tedium, and maybe that is what I am good at doing. Maybe I’m meant to do tedium and not much of anything else. Maybe tedium is my true calling. There is, of course, only one way to find out, and that’s by diving right in and getting on with it. Getting on with the getting on and going on and moving forward and all of those things.

But will it happen today?

Well, I’m stills tuck at home but I’ve work to do. So… maybe. It could happen. I don’t want to necessarily start rumour that may be just that, but there is a possibility, but it is only a possibility. I need to get on top of a lot of things and all that razzmatazz that makes me sound more productive than I actually am. Yet to find out. Yet to be determined. Yet to know if there really is going to be success in this kind of pointlessness.

So do I do it? I’m sure I’ll feel pretty wrecked by the end of it, but maybe I do. Maybe I’ll aim for quite a lot today, then more tomorrow, then more the day after, then more…

From what I’ve heard, Stephen King write quite a lot of words a day. If he can do it, then surely so can I. To be fair, his mind works far better in terms of inspiration and creativity than mine does, but you know.

Now I’m wondering as to how many words Kate Grenville writes per day.

Maybe through this process things will come forward that I’ve been looking and hoping for for a while. Maybe things will become clear and I’ll finally hit that target, and then I’ll be fine to go ahead with whatever else comes my way. Whatever else comes swinging. I can swing back, but maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just get on with my life. I don’t know.

So I guess, what I’m saying right now is that I’m getting back on track. I had a plan and it was derailed, and now I’m re-railing. This plan does involve a lot of words. A lot of crap written. A celebration of crap. A celebration of crappy writing in a crappy way. But you know how it is. If you’ve been following me long enough, you know what to expect. I don’t, but you do.

All your fault, really.

So this is the part where I extend this bit of writing beyond anything reasonable (not that it wasn’t already) and go on a tangent about how I can only blame you, the reader, for what this is. This is what I’m meant to do and this is what I’d like to do, but, truthfully, I can’t. I can’t bring myself to be that kind of pointlessness. There are so many other things far more worthwhile to say, and maybe I will say them. I don’t know. It is yet to be determined. What hasn’t been determined is the result of this experiment (assuming it is an experiment, or at least pretending it is).

I think that, maybe, just maybe, if I do something this pointless, I might just be able to get Stupidity Hole back to what it was meant to be way back in the day: uninformed writings from an arrogant Sydneysider. Some of what I have written has been far more literal an interpretation of that statement than I ever intended, because what I mean by that is a lot of silly, whimsical, absurd writing that, whilst is pointless, is still something to read, if that makes sense. Yes, I want to touch on the poignant. I want top have people feel something, but I also just want to write silly stuff. I want to write silly stuff and find some humour among it all. Not so much in the writing itself, but the fact that someone would put something so silly and ridiculous out… maybe.

Okay, I’m not sure if I do want to do humour. But you know.

So maybe that’s how the last few writings here will end up. I don’t know right now. I’m sure they’ll actually end up more openly introspective, and then I’ll think about things and then move on with my life. There aren’t many months left at this point, but there are just enough and I’ve got to keep on going with it. I’ve got to keep pushing on and get through, and try to get back to being celebratory, even if I am fucking miserable at the moment. But who knows what will happen.

I can only imagine that, given enough time, I’ll have a clearer idea of what is happening. Of what is going on. It takes time and it takes a lot of time. But sometimes these things become clear with enough work, and maybe that’s how it’ll happen. Maybe things will become clear just as a random thought whilst out somewhere at some point. Maybe nothing will be clear and this space will just end, and that will be that.

Things are tough. I’m scared of succeeding. I’m scared of completing things. I’m scared of what comes after everything wraps up. I’ve had a good run though, and if it doesn’t finish with a bang, then at least with some satisfaction.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 13:38:77

Bit faster. Bit of a stretching, bit of a reaching, but a bit faster. A bit smoother, too. At least in some places.

Written at home.