Well, time to put pen to paper again.
Which is a retarded expression because I barely put pen to paper anymore. There is no real joy in it. It was a tactile pleasure, once upon a time, dragging a pen across a crisp sheet of paper, thoughts slowly flowing out onto the page and out of my brain. Or even better, a really sharp, dark lead pencil. Bliss.
Not so much, these days. When I say put pen to paper, I mean sit in the dark and sleet my thoughts onto the screen. Little comets, spurting out from behind my eyes and onto the glowing screen. Normally, anyway. Normally, this kind of process is pretty close to an orgasm. Build up, build up, build up, hold it for a moment - RELEASE. Satisfaction. Tonight I'm working hard at it. I feel as though I'm getting worse and worse at letting it out onto the page (there it is again, page) but if I don't try, I'll go insane.
So. Where are we at the moment? What's sleeting around in my brain, causing me pain? Ugh. You'd think I'd be better at this - and you'd think I'd have the sense not to complain about it. I was introduced to the concept of 'first world problem' recently, and I must say I'm a horrible example. Can't write a blog post? Angst. Lose my phone? End of the world. So I sit in the dark with this hangover - one that I earned, wholeheartedly and completely earned. That's the fuck of it, isn't it? No hangover without drinking for it - but that's the wrong way around, reverse it. No drinking without the hangover afterwards. You've always got to pay the piper, and that's not just with drinking. That's with everything. I lose my phone, I have a threesome. Utter satisfaction and utter frustration - at least, in the only ways I know how to experience them. And you have the gall to tell me that there isn't karma in the universe? Well, you probably don't have the gall to tell me that. You'll probably sit there in silence and maybe chuckle every now and then if I prove amusing, and take nothing way from anything I say because hey, this is clearly a performance. This is clearly useless. Just a hungover kid bragging about sex and bitching about his phone.
The sleeting just stopped. That's...unexpected.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment