I’ve hit a wall.
It’s been a couple of weeks now since I wrote anything and now I don’t know where to begin. It has become a thing, a chore, a nag at the back of my head – ‘you really should write a blog post you know…’
Yes I know, thank you brain for your ever helpful input.
You know when you leave the washing up for too long and you get to the point where you’re having to butter bread with the back of a spoon because all the knives are dirty? You know you should just wash up, but somehow you can’t. You’ve left it too long and it’s become too much. It almost feels like it would be easier to just sweep all the dirty dishes into the bin and start again with new ones.
Well that’s how I feel here. I feel like I’ve left it too long, but every day just makes it longer, (what with the relentless passing of time and all…), so here I am, writing, before I am overcome by the urge to press delete on the whole thing and start again with a blog all about something stupid like ‘vegetables that look like members of thr royal family’ or ‘things I find on the street’.
To be honest, that might not be a bad decision. I do like finding things on the street. I once found a lovely purple knitted beret, and during the winter I found a scarf on a wall which, once I had got it home and defrosted it, was actually very pretty.
Just as you should do when faced with a mountain of dishes, I have decided to bite the bullet, grab the bull by the horns, shake my metaphors roughly by the shoulders, and just write. Something. Anything. Just to take the pressure off, just to quieten the voice in my head. (Everyone gets voices right?).
My plan is to take this opportunity just to let the words pour out, much like lancing a boil, so that next time I can write something good.
Now there’s something to look forward to.
I’m tired though. I’m sat in bed, my fingers are moving slowly over the keys, clumsily. I’m having to concentrate hard on sending the right messages to my hands, on hitting the right letters. It feels like hard work. This isn’t the random, yet charming, spewing of words onto the page I was hoping for.
I frown at the screen.
‘Hush,’ says my brain, ‘it’s late you know. You don’t have to do this.’
‘Yes I do,’ I whisper back, ‘it’s a Thing remember, a Thing I Need To Do.’
‘No,’ my brain insists, ‘it isn’t. No one cares. No one will have even missed you.’
‘Oh,’ I do my sad child face.
‘Just stop typing and lie down. Everything will be fine. Hush.’
So I stop typing and lie down. And my brain is right, everything is fine.