So I’m writing again as I was a bit disappointed in the speed in which I got the last bit of rambling done. I want to write faster and that slow speed just will not do. However, I’m already lagging behind. Maybe I’ve listened to too much relaxed music today. I don’t know. Anyway, I’m writing purely for speed and I’m going at a steady click which is great.However, I am going slow, which is not great. I have no idea as to how many words I’ve already written but I cannot stop as if I do, that’ll take time and time is not what I want to take… even though I’m taking time to do do this and taking your time as you’re reading this.

I’m not good at this stuff.

Still, I have to wonder as to how I am taking time. I have to also wonder as to how I’m giving time. I think about that some of the time and to all of the time. Time is a word I also say a lot.

Time

So anyway, I’m writing. I am communicating and through this is a form of expression. It is an expression of nothing in particular. I write and I’m in an office and all is quiet and that’s okay. Things are good and flowing well, and I’m relaxed. I’m not stressed. Just in a significant amount of pain but it’s getting better. That’s life. So it goes and such it is. And I sit here and I wonder as to what I am doing with my life. I wonder where the meaning comes from interfacing with a computer in order to press buttons and send notes and fix things comes from.

Is it from the action? Is it from being a participant in society, where there are many holes to fill and few people ever seem to fit into any of them? How does my sense of self fit into this? When I press these buttons, what am I furthering? I have questions and this isn’t the place to ask them, but I am asking them. But I keep on going as there are tasks that need doing and that is what has been requested of me.

In the successful completion of these tasks I am provided an income and I can spend it as I see fit, and a lot of that expenditure goes to survival. Funny how that happens. Funny how little things change. The more things change the more they stay the same or so some people think, though there definitely are circular patterns in life and it seems they are inescapable. We just need to make the most of what we can where we can and how we can if we are to see some sort of success within this continual going around the drain but never quiet going down it to something new.

So what am I saying, anyway? Where am I going with this? What purpose is a life if it is lived only for work? Of course I can say that, but am I not also working when I am not working? When I write, am I not working? Am I not staying in a continuous state of processes and doing things when I work on music or a drawing, or a photo? Does work ever stop?

Is the work of the office grey, and is that why we consider work outside of the office – work that we enjoy – much more varied and coloured? Is it solely to do with how we associate drudgery and lack of imagination? There’s a lot of imagination in the office space, and I think this goes ignored more often than it should. Still, there’s a difference between being in a place that often feels cold, regardless of how warm its inhabitants are, and a place where we usually associate with safety and comfort and warmth.

There is a good chance a lot of us associate positive qualities in areas more dangerous than offices and still see offices as being unimaginative, uncreative places that don’t provide comfort or some sort of ease and relaxation simply because we work there and complete obligations for money, whereas in more dangerous spaces, we are there far more willingly and are relaxing in them, so therefore are considered safer and more protective. Either that or we recognise the dangers, but the pressure is different and less oppressive in a way… not that I’m in an oppressive space, but you know. You get the idea.

Maybe it’s in the architecture. Maybe even if we are impressed by where we work, there’s still something in the back of our minds tellings us that a space is hostile to living, even if it is not. Even in the most comfortable of spaces, if we have to work for an income in them, then perhaps we inherently see them as bad and dangours and uncomfortable, and not good for the brain. I wish I knew if this was the case or not, but I don’t. This is not something I know anything about. I can only guess and hope that it leads to me thinking and looking more into it. I have been in my fair share of hostile spaces, however but those were quite obviously hostile. But now I’m not. I’m in a healthier office space now.

So… yeah. The day continues, I continue writing and I continue doing the things that I’m doing. I keep getting through it all, whatever it all is of course, and I’m still writing away. I’m trying to get this done at a speed I’m happy with and I don’t think I will. There’s always room for disappointment and I’m quite good at disappointing myself. Therefore I will continue to do this, but at least I can say I did it my way. I can disappoint myself with my thoughts and I can disappoint myself with my words. But they’re all mine.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 12:08:28

Went very surface philosophical for some reason. Not sure why. Did it at a decent speed, though.

Written at work.