The Door Swings To And Fro

Looking at the date I realise it has been a week since I last wrote anything. Fiction, I mean. It has been a little longer since the last blog post (dipping in and out the two worlds, you see).
It doesn't feel like a week. Time and reality are so easy to lose grips with when you're not trying.
I could go a year without writing and not notice, surely. I would think about it (and lord do I think of it) but whether I would actually get into the act of doing writing is a completely different thing.

The 10K word limit was made. It was achieved in smaller chunks - 8 stories. But made the count, and I voiced new (to me) stories. Most of the ideas are not particularly new, but the words are in an order I have never seen before. Because of this, I shall call it my own.

What does this mean to you? Any of it? Nothing whatsoever. I have created something but I am not showing it for now, for reasons of being too raw and too badly written (oh how we love it as we make it but when we look at it there are deformities that were not initially apparent).

Consider this just a pop in to say I am alive. I am written. Perhaps if I get my act together I will be writing, too.

Awake

I know I should be asleep. I will be waking at half 4. But sleep is not something we can always plan. We can force it, but I would like to learn to make it come natural.
The mind plays games, unnecessary and often unhelpful, but it enjoys it for some depraved reason.

I want to be asleep. I'm waking super early, have you heard? But sometimes there are thoughts that just keep you up. Sometimes they are of heartache, sometimes they are of regret, others are of a restless nature that just wants so desperately for the time between one stage and another to disa-fucking-peer. The restless thoughts can get quite aggressive, they are borne of a frustration that is often as childish as they are eager.

I don't actually ever want to sleep. It's true that if I could spend all my moments awake and be cool with that, then that in turn would be pretty good. Right now, and maybe for some time still, I am not comfortable with my own company, but were this not so then I would be super hyped about having all the hours of the day to my conscious mind's self. I have so many things I'd like to achieve that I don't feel that I should sleep. Ever. But there's a difference to having achieved something and doing something. I am finding more often than not that I don't actually want to do anything. I just want to have done it. The present me is not the me I want to be.

I'm going to write some fiction over the next three weeks. Three short stories if this plan works out. I've made the mistake of rewriting an old heartache. Bringing it forward and giving it fresh pain. You know how us writers roll, we bleed for our art. I don't think it's very productive working with it, but it has been started so I suppose we'll see how it ends.

My mind is racing with thoughts. Most of which I won't divulge. This isn't that kind of blog. I'm supposed to be mysterious. One day I'll even be adventurous. There may even come a day when a fart doesn't spark a giggle.

But who're we kidding? Life is just as averse to sudden changes as we are.