Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I about to do what I am about to do?

I’m going to see if I can get quite a lot of words out today. This is not a good idea. This is not advisable, unless I had the time and the infinite imagination. I’m still going to try. I reckon I can churn out a lot, but I need to see if I actually can. There’s no telling where this all goes. There’s no telling if it goes anywhere. Still, I need to make up for the past few days and so that is what I hope to do.

I’m gonna be so tired by the end of the day.

I’m still stuck at home. Still resting my foot. Still getting on with the getting on. Still surviving. Still powering on. Still looking for a better tomorrow. Still finding my way through ideas falling away and giving birth to no new realities. No new adventures. Still sitting, waiting for what next may come. Still having life slip away.

This sucks.

So does the writing. Haha!

Cloudy light outside, still dark in here. Not as bright as I would like. Ve3ry peaceful. Just sitting here, waiting, preparing to start working another day. Preparing to work through whatever may come my way. Trying to find all the links to everything and find the links to nothing at the same time. Trying to work it all out. Don’t what it is that I am trying to work out, but I’m sure that I’ll work it out. Maybe in pieces. Maybe in fragments found spinning upon a sharpened point of a steeple, floating through space, wandering aimlessly, trying to find what comes net in these darkened days of heavy moods and focused defeat.

Trying to just get through the day, really.

I need to find something. I need to find some source of inspiration. A death bed has already been done, and by people far more competent than I, so I need to think of something else. Something that’ll truly spark the creative beast that lies dormant. Something that’ll show that, yes, everything is worth everything and, so long as I look for a better tomorrow, a better tomorrow is what I will find.

But of course, in looking for one, you need to be able to work toward actually creating it. A better tomorrow doesn’t always come for you so you need to work on it, and you need to work on creating one for those who aren’t in a position to do so. For those who have been denied the ability to do so.

But maybe I’m not looking for that and rather, I’m just looking to get words together in an order that makes sense to me. I mean, that’s what I’m always doing, but here I’m really trying to create the impression that that’s what I’m capable of doing. And I am. That I need to admit to myself. That I need to own. I can own it. Perhaps I’m scared, or something.

This is all so surface and it will remain as such. It’d be wrong for me to get deep at this point. There are too many things thrown by the wayside. Too many things given up upon. If I start considering the possibility of getting deep, then that might just be the end of me.

I think I’ve been inside for too long.

I think I need to get outside again. I didn’t realise that being inside for a week would affect me in such a manner, but apparently it is. What do I do? Where do I go form here? I’m trying to remain active. I’m trying to remain creative. Can I do it, though? Or will the being inside get to me and throw away all that I’ve tried to work upon? Will I be subsumed by this residence? Will I become nothing more that I already am, and somehow even less so? I don’t know, and I don’t know if I want to find out.

Actually, I need to rephrase this.

Being stuck inside because I need to rest is what is harming me the most. If I had more choice, I think I’d be fine. However, rest always comes first and I can get through what it’s doing to my headspace. I can get through this. I can get to the end of the working day and see something else, and feel a bit better, even if it is only a little bit.

I think part of what makes this tough is that I’m dealing with my thoughts and I’m not able to do much in the way of moving about. That’s what makes it hard for me. I know that, reasonably, this will all pass. I know that I will be fine. But I just keep on going and I have to keep on dealing with it, and eventually I’ll be fine.

But I just want to be creative and arty, and I guess I don’t want to be considered weird just because I am who I am. Instead what I get is burnout and depression, the winning combination.

So what I’m saying is that today I’m going to try and enhance my burnout by burning out harder than I have ever burned out before. It’s going to be an interesting day, full of work and other things, and I’ll get to the end of it in many pieces, but at least I’ll be able to say that I got it done and I cleared my plate, and then I can get on with winning the lottery and spending the rest of my years traveling. Spending the rest of my years looking for what may be and going from there. It’ll be a good time and it’ll be a sad time, but what it most assuredly won’t be is the time, even though it’d be happening all of the time, or something.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 15:09:05

Bit of a mess. I was hoping for silliness and some of that came through, but this was far more heavy than I’d have liked.

Written at home.