I’ve started writing this post several times over the last hour. I’m still not entirely sure where I’m going with it. Rather than actually write anything, I have procrastinated famously – installing two different text editors to try out, and vanishing down an internet rabbit hole in the process.
I’m tired. Properly tired. Along with the usual headbanging sessions against the coal face of the pixel mines, I’ve also been dealing with the kids being off school for the summer. I’m pretty sure that if we generate any more washing up, dirty clothes, or rubbish in the bins outside, the Earth will begin to tilt sideways as the mass displacement kicks in.
It’s the weekend though, right? If I can avoid the endless cycle of washing up and tidying up, I might try and write something of consequence, rather than this endlessly recursive commentary on the mundane and the forgettable.
One of my friends has been busy writing a book in her spare time, and I have to admit I’m envious. I’ve had several attempts at NaNoWriMo over the years, and failed every time because either life or work stomped all over it. I’m wondering if I might be better off just starting to write something – anything. Something has got to be better than nothing, hasn’t it. I’ve kind of proved through the blog over the years that I can quite successfully waffle on about nothing at all, seemingly without end.
I remember a computer studies lesson at school when I was about 13 years old. The class of children sat around the computer lab, sharing computers – because back then schools couldn’t afford a computer for each child. We were shown a word processor for the first time, and myself and my best friend at the time spent quite some minutes fashioning a ridiculous story. Of course we were not supposed to be writing a ridiculous story at all, but handed a screen, a keyboard, and the ability to write – we dove straight into it. I sometimes wish I could still do that. Perhaps I can – it’s not like I’ve actually tried.