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This is more of an acknowledgement to myself than anyone who may stumble across this by accident, as I highly doubt I have any followers who actively read my posts any longer. But time has passed, and I have done some thinking.
Yes. I've taken time to consider aspects of my life, few as they might be these days, and I've raised a few questions as a result. But consider them I did, and I've come to some conclusions in answer to said questions.
The main one being:
'Where am I going?' Sad truth is, nowhere. I've ground to a halt, like some old digging machine left out in the desert, rusting and alone. Parts seizing up, and ageing as time insists and nature obliges, my physical being has become less efficient in function than I'd like. Totally my fault.
'What am I doing?' Another sad truth - very little. The physical has bearing on the mental, and when mind and body are out of favour with each other, the machine as a whole decides to adopt a 'non-compliance' policy. Unruly little bastard.
'What do I want to do?' Oh, such a loaded question. Answers range from the daft, to the ridiculous, to the mundane. But what makes it all the more frustrating is that none of them are particularly exciting or original.
'What am I doing now?' Hmm? Well, one could say reflecting, but one could also say moping? Depends on which side of the proverbial fence you are standing. I think moping induces a certain amount of reflection, if I'm honest. I know I've recently been inspired back to my pretence at writing. I say 'pretence' as I've yet to finish any of the larger stories I've begun, so I therefore question my right to even consider myself to be a 'writer'. I prefer 'dabbler of the written word'.
'Why do I start writing projects?' Again, flat-out truth here - because I feel that if I can finish a writing project, it will make all the difference to me on a personal level. Another success, if you like. So much of my life has been littered with failures, that the handful of successes I've had could do with a boost. A perspective of balance, maybe?
'Who am I writing for?' Myself, ultimately. Though a vain aspect of my ego wants it to be for others, in the hope they will derive pleasure from the imagined places, characters, lives and scenarios I have envisioned and committed to type. The ultimate ego-maniac inside me would love to see it in print - but I would NEVER self-publish. Therefore, my writing will vanish along with me when my time on this material plane grinds to a stop.
'Where now?' Truthfully? I have no fecking clue? I think back over the things I've done during my life so far - some good, some average and some not-so-good. There are people I have loved who are no more in my life, either through the passing of their life, or a parting of the ways - of the latter, there are some whom I miss, even as I write, whilst others I couldn't give a fuck about (and no doubt the feeling is mutually returned).
I am not the person I used to be (are any of us?). In many ways that is both good and bad. But mostly I miss the person I used to be - more energetic, driven, disciplined and enjoying life. Recent years have had a detrimental effect on all of us, and it's unforgiveable that it was even set in motion to begin with. With that said, my present state is one I undoubtedly share with thousands, if not, millions of others.
And like those others, my mental state has been questionable at best. I keep it wrapped up in a little box in the corner of my mind, and that is placed in a cage, to ensure it doesn't go on a rampage when I least expect it. Often it will lift the lid and stare at me, whispering. Those are the tricky moments, and sometimes I find myself reaching for the cage door, but stop before I do something stupid and open it.
When losing Darcy, then a year later my mother, then Tilly in the December of that same, it just felt as if the balance wasn't even in question any longer, but cast aside, laid across the floor. Chaos seemed to be the 'new normal', as we were constantly being reminded by those wishing to control us.
And this is why I write. To escape. To rage. To redress the balance, even if it's in a make-believe setting, with make-believe characters. If I can't have the life I once hoped for, then maybe I can give it to those characters? I tend to cry too much, too often, lately. I laugh less. I think more. I resent much. Life has lost so much appeal for me, that there are times when the voice from the box is so very tempting. A chance to hit the reset button.
We shall see.
I leave you with one of my favourite bands: Rammstein, and the track from the 'Zeit' album: 'Lügen'.
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