Okay, so for some reason I think that right now I can churn out a thousand more words. I think I can do this but tit’s a bad idea, but we;ll see what happens.

Let me rephrase: I think I can churn out a thousand more words right now. I still have a few more after that to hit a target that is entirely my own, but I think I can do it and so that is what I’m going to do. But who knows how ti will turn out. I don’t.

So I’m sitting here and you get the idea and now I’m all out of ideas. I could write about looking for them, but I’ve done that before. No need to repeat the past. Don’t want to be doing that. I could just go on a lengthy, unmitigated tangent about how snow applies to the thesis of the bundt cake,  but if there are no ways around exploding drivel, there’s no real point.

Hang on: Why does the WordPress spellcheck think that “bundt” is incorrectly spelt? That’s a real word. Why is this the case? What?

You know, they’ll probably update the checker after this, thus dating this bit of this tangent, and then I’m done for, for I will look like a fool. However, what a lot of people won’t realise is that this update will render this an archival document. It will be something for Internet archeologists to unearth and then wonder about. It marks a time of change and it changes the marks in time. Everything changes; even time, and so do spellcheckers. You hope they would.

What if WordPress don’t update their checker? Well then, I might still look like a fool for making an assumption that wasn’t to be, and then what? How will I live my life knowing that I made such a heinous mistake? I will have to live in isolation. I will have to disappear and live off the land and go on a journey that is as long and arduous as it is arduous and long, and then some! I don’t know what I will do for myself.

Now of course there will be beautiful seasides and idyllic fields and all that other junk, but I won’t be able to appreciate it, for my thoughts will turn inward as I ruminate upon my mistake. As I think about how I went so wrong on something that was so easily avoidable.

You know, you will have these beautiful scenes of rolling water, and the sound of it crashing against the land somewhere below. Grass will be a nice, verdant green among a sky of bits and pieces of clouds, and mostly blue and continuous, extending eternally. The path will follow the top and a breeze will blow the grass. It’ll sway and bend with the wind’s desires, and it’ll be pleasant. It won’t be too hot; it’ll be just fine. I won’t be there. I’ll be walking through it, but I won’t be there.

Among the shrubs and scrub of the bush, sun will shine and make things appear sharper than they are. More bristly. The beauty of the trees and the various stories in their bark will create some sort of tapestry, and here and there birdsong will be heard, and maybe the scurrying of various other creatures. The ground will be uneven, but still able to be followed; to be crossed, and I’ll be heading through it, in this heat and coolness mixed into one. I will be walking through it, but the walk won’t show me the sights and the wonder of this scrubby bush; I’ll be looking inward, trying to work out how it was that I was able to make such a mistake.

I will be wondering as to how future generations will view me, for my errors in judgement were the most profoundly incorrect. I will stand tall as a cautionary tale to those who think they are able to do better, but no one will be able to, for the mistakes had been made and there is no undoing them. Trying to merely repeats and creates cycles, and definitely in that order. This is something that cannot be allowed to happen, though more people wandering and thinking about where they have gone wrong is probably a good thing. Probably better than staying glued to a computer constantly, in situations where not being glued to a computer constantly are definitely better. But who is to say at this point in time?

So now I must think about my options. I can undo this error in judgement. I actually have the ability to, which sacrifices many words used to say very little. I can also keep going. I can refuse to relent, and live with what the future will think of me. It’s a tough call, really, but it is mine to make, and make it I will or will not.

Maybe I won’t make it at all and let whatever comes guide me to the future, and from there I can do whatever and nothing more, and find out what it is. But then if I find out and it’s deeply embarrassing, maybe I’ll go for that walk anyway. I’ll go for that walk where I don’t appreciate what is around me in order for me to be able to look inward and ruminate and think far too much on too little. It’s a tough decision, really.

Maybe I should just go for the walk anyway. Once my foot is better, of course. If I do it now, it might not be worthwhile. Or it could be. I am yet to find out, but find out I will. Or I won’t.

Ah, stuff it. Think I’ll just go get myself a tea and relax a bit, and take it all sorts of easy. That seems like a better idea than any other I’ve had, and I know I’ve had quite a few bad ones.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 12:51:59

Decent speed, decent silliness.

Written at home.