It’s a week since I posted here last and it feels like I have been here was a long time ago.
“Long, long ago, there was a guy named … who blogged and then he didn’t, for a week, he felt like…”
Any of my readers who wish to continue this story are welcome to do so in the comment section of this post. Again, no link dropping is allowed. Or, I should not say that, rather you are welcome to drop your blog links after comments… Go wonder why didn’t they appear in comments. 😉
This morning as I opened the word processor, and checked the daily writing rate required tool (no big deal… I created one for me… so can you… to escape daily calculations), a lag of more than 1100 words was an eye opener. I wondered where I was wasting my time, why I didn’t write, didn’t blog and wasn’t reading. A hit on the bullets and here goes the reasons:
What I have been doing for last seven days is not worthy a blog post. There are things and there are times not to be shared and not to be dived deep into.
I blog and I write for the sake of pleasure I get out of them. It is a thing you do when you want to so. I didn’t write as I didn’t felt to do so.
Life is good, which means more time, if not better than good, it is surely better than what it is usually. That translates into more time doing things like everyone else than dancing the tunes of schizophrenic clamor of a weird life.
I had no time for writing.
An athlete on track can’t figure out how fast he has been running. He may think he is the fastest of all, given that he sees no one ahead him, but how fast. It is a difficult proposition. It makes a lot of sense to step out of that race and see time pass and others pass and do some rework, revisit the scheme of things and a reboot.
“What have you been doing?” “Nothing.” For the sake of that nothing, spending time to achieve the unachievable, a feat with no proven conqueror, ethereal, blasphemous state of doing nothing. I tried my best to achieve that. Failed.
My internet speed is down; my laptop refuses to start as if I am asking it for a dance on its deathbed. It is such a waste of time which is office time, one for which I am paid to spend watching WordPress load at a slackening speed.
Or, for writing is purely orgasmic and needs the attention and space which I am not able to give.
Well done for now, that’s another post ending nowhere but on writing.
Notes to self:
Thought to concentrate on
“One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.” — Jack Kerouac
It is time to go reading, go writing even if it is sin, for the sake of all pleasure I get.