If you are reading this, you are about to be shocked. Well, perhaps not really. You might be in for a boring time. I'm simply writing for the sake of writing, for the sake of getting my thoughts and ideas out of my head. It is sort of like a Journal, although perhaps not as personal as a journal could or should be. I am only going to share that which I feel comfortable sharing (granted I don't have much of a filter, but what I do have is pretty strong). I've been wanting to write for the mere sake of writing for ever too long.
I'm feeling frustrated with everything. I mean EVERYTHING. I mean, I'm on a D.S.P. I'm both grateful for it and frustrated that I am still in this position, relying on the government for survival. If I was well enough, I'd work. I have had wavering health for some time. Both in terms of physical health AND mental health. I'm still ever hopeful that things will continue to improve. I believe in a sense that they already have.
There are so many things which I would love to write about, so many opportunities in a day to get some good material for writing, yet so little of the time am I organised enough to do so. I feel like asking people to slow down in their conversations so that I can write everything down that they are saying. These people are brilliant geniuses and I don't think they even know it. Who am I talking about? The random randoms you see everywhere.
You might even be a genius and not know it. Or you might know it, but you keep it as a firmly held secret from those living in 'the real world' where everything is practical, a thing has a place and no other place will do, logic prevails over feeling and where women still don't get equal pay for equal work. That obviously isn't the world I am living in. I mean this, not in the sense that I am having a break from reality, but more in the sense that I choose not to acknowledge that reality - and instead opt for another.
My reality is more peaceful, idealistic and loving. I see a world where babies are born every day (rather than focusing, as I once upon a time would on those children being bombed by America, etc.), a world where puppies, kittens and butterflies exist. Fluffy bunnies run rampant and wild around on the greenest of pastures, in my own backyard. Only my backyard is very small (at least I have one and I'm grateful), but it is no pasture. Still I look forward with hope to such a time as I may get to live closer to nature and further from the influence and stench of the city.
Who am I kidding? I'm VERY fortunate. I need to stay ever grateful for the good things that come my way. I just feel that there is this great dichotomy in life. There is up and there is down. There is falling and there is rising. There is lifting and being lifted. There is left and right. Right and wrong. Wrong and even wronger. There is Sun and moon, neither comparable: one a great gas giant, the other somewhat solid. Both may contain water. Why not? Earth does. Doesn't earth have enough water to share? Recently they discovered reservoirs of water deep beneath the crust. Thousands or maybe hundreds of thousands of kilometres down. How far exactly, I do not know.
What is my point? I don't know. I'm rambling. Fumbling for words. Grasping for them, then they slip away like a snake recoiling into it's hole. Words evade me like a trooper evades the sniper, trembling with fear at what I might do to them: butcher the English language.
Recently I went to write a letter to a manufacturer of espresso machines in Italy. I thought it right to write him/her in their native language: Italiano. I feel that I did the language sorely. I did not only butcher it, but I tortured it first. I tormented them with half-decent italian, before sliding into a slow descent of thunderous failure. I don't know what thunderous failure is. I just made that up. I've heard a lot of writers do that: invent things of a verbal nature. What more is there to do other than compile sentence upon sentence, combination upon combination and connect dots which aught otherwise not be connected.
I'm not quite done with my rumbling ramblings, but I would like to end it here. Done.
No apology.
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