It’s a little cold and that’s okay. Starting this bit of writing with that particular wording probably isn’t okay, but it being a little cold is.

It’s a quiet day. It’s another day spent chipping away at whatever and hoping for the best and all of that fun stuff. Sitting here at lunch, falling in line, going through the motions. Going through the processes. I’m getting there. I’m getting to the end of it, or I’m not getting to the end of it. I don’t even know what “it” is, in this context. Maybe it’s just a reference to life. Who knows. I don’t, I just threw it in there.

I’m thinking about nothing, or rather, I’m thinking about not much in particular. Just the process of writing and being alive and all that. In a few hours I’ll take off, head on home, go and rest. I’ll be good. I’ll be fine. I’ll even be a little bit exhausted. This is a good way to be. Or it’s not. It’s just what it is, really.

Sometimes I feel like I’m forcing myself far more than I should. I don’t know if I am, but sometimes I feel I am. I’m trying to do something rather silly, really. I’m trying to get through words and sentences and I’m trying to create a really big mess, and I’m good at doing that but it’s also really tiring. It’s strenuous work, doing all this going on about whatever, but it is a form of work. It’s a form of process.

When I think these things, I don’t really know what it is that I’m thinking, I guess. I guess I’m thinking about getting to the end and hoping that there’s something that comes forward among it all. I guess I’m hoping to be able to say that I’ve done what I set out to do, but I don’t know if I am really hoping for that. I do know that I still enjoy writing, even if it is a struggle in places.

I’m wondering about when the last time I made an observation was, and not just one where I start talking about looking after each other and the environment, which both I think are important, don’t get me wrong, but rather, something that means something, even if it’s really mundane. I wonder about this, and I wonder if, perhaps, I’ve nothing left to offer, or if I ever had anything to offer at all.

I can remember a time when I was a bit more chipper than I am now. Things were different, I was in a different position in life and I was younger. Now I’m not as young as I was then and I still am chipper sometimes, but I am also very much elsewhere. I’m looking inward to try and go outward, if that makes sense. It probably does but I think it doesn’t, but I also hope it does.

Layers.

So… yeah. Sitting here, trying to live my life. Feeling isolated, feeling alone. Wondering about myself. I have to do a lot of hard thinking. I have to think about where I went wrong, or if I did indeed go wrong at all. I have to think about a lot of things. What do I offer to the world? What do I offer to my community? Am I actually a good person? Do I think I’m good? I don’t know, I just think that I’m trying. Probably better to think that I’m trying and then try and keep trying rather than think I’m a good person and be an asshole. I hope.

I do wonder at what point I tapped out and ran out of things to say. I wonder if I’ve ever had any relevance to anyone, and I know I have, but here I mean strictly in terms of writing. I don’t know if I have or have no, and I can only wonder more. But at the same time, does it matter? Does it matter if I have been relevant to someone? Does it matter if someone has ready my writing and felt something? In a way it probably does, but if I’m writing for the enjoyment of writing, then it shouldn’t.

I’ve published so much of this rambling, so surely it must mean that I’ve wanted it read. I’ve put it out there and people have been able to look at what I put out there, or rather put here. They’ve a choice to engage, and if they have, then maybe they have gotten something out of it all, and that probably does matter to me. Up until a point, anyway.

Perhaps a lot of us yearn for some sort of validation external to us more than we let on, and maybe I do. I have to admit that much. I’ve spent a lot of time not thinking or feeling like I’ve wanted it, but right now, I think I could be wrong in that thinking. Perhaps wrong is not the way to describe it. Perhaps it should more be that I was unaware in my thinking.

Maybe it’s due to how close to the end of this blog everything is that has me wondering more about this stuff. It probably is. That and a bit of a low set of feelings coming in. But I do wonder and I keep wondering. What can I say about all of this? What can I do about all of this? This is a towering work of messy thoughts and messy use of words. That’s… all there is to it, but it still means something to me. At the very least I can accept that. But I don’t know if any of it was worth it or not… at least to someone who isn’t me.

I know that Ewe has read a lot of this stuff and that’s something I’m happy about. It means something to someone else, at least, so maybe it’s all worth it.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 13:16:68

Good speed. Writing is a bit of a mess, but it’s how everything was coming out.

Written at work.