It's been a very long time since I wrote for the sake of writing. So long, in fact, that I can't remember what it was I wrote about. I imagine it rhymed, and I imagine I put it in a notebook somewhere and promised myself I'd do something more with it. That, clearly, never happened. Sorry words; you're just another waste of ink now.
Realising how long it had been made me sad. Not properly sad, because I'm generally an incredibly chipper person, but sad enough to dig out my Blogger password and start writing this. That's a degree of sadness and that was all I needed to ignite action.
The reason why I am now writing less is, almost certainly, down to the fact that I am being paid to write more. Ironic, that. Writing at home feels like I'm still at work, only I'm not being paid for it and I have to make my own tea. What kind of bollocks is that? You wouldn't come home from a job as a fireman and continue putting out fires; you'd just let shit burn. Alright, maybe that was a bad example, but the metaphor is still making a valid point and I'm going to stick with it as deleting anything now would only stop what, I'm sure you'll agree, is a very good flow.
I decided, on my walk home, just after I'd passed the broken glass that seems to have been a part of my journey for the last few weeks and is definitely the reason behind why my fancy shoes are becoming a lot less fancy, that something needed to be done about this lack of free words. Writing, after all, is literally the only thing I'm any good at. I don't use the word 'literally' lightly, you understand. People who do are literally the worst people alive. If I'm not writing I'll only be losing at FIFA or taking bad photographs of my equally bad dinner. I need to write to keep myself out of trouble.
So something had to be done. I needed a reason to keep on writing past 6pm, a reason to keep doing what I like doing even when I am not being instructed to do so via email.
"Ash," I said to myself, "You need to give yourself a brief. You live in structure now, and if you try and break free from that structure you will panic and cry. Don't cry, for you are a grown man and that would be a universal sign of weakness."
After I'd done talking to myself I got round to setting myself said brief, and as soon as I've done wasting my time here telling you about it just so you think I'm actually doing something with my evenings and not, as is actually the case, pissing them away pining over hats I can't afford and would look ridiculous in even if I could, I'm going to get round to acting on it. Gauntlet laid, mission accepted, hat website closed. God, I love hats.
I won't say what I'm working on because a) It sounds pretentious when people go on about their own personal projects because no-one really cares until they're done, and even then the emotions they evoke are forced at best, and b) If I don't say what I'm doing, no-one can judge me for it if it never actually gets finished.
This way I win regardless. I like it when that happens.
These words are out now and I feel better for it. A project has commenced and I feel better for that too. You've just wasted a few minutes reading this, or more likely you got bored after the first poorly constructed paragraph, but as always this blog was never for your enjoyment; it was mainly for my own selfish gratification, and that has been achieved in abundance. I feel especially better for that.
