My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding is on in the corner of the room, taking up my capacity to think properly. I’m not going to talk about that show; it’s on now so any reaction is likely to be knee-jerk. And that can only lead to bleeding-heart liberalism or right-wing extremism, and I think a carefully considered mixture of the two is probably called for. Basically it’s a stupid show, and I know nothing about anything. Don’t know why I mentioned it.
Anyhoo, playing at being a writer is harder than it looks. It’s OK for your J.K. Rowlings and the rest of the select few earning a substantial wealth from it. Even scraping a living from writing would be an exciting and proud bonus. But here I am, writing for free out of sheer bloody-mindedness, surround by distractions: shiny lights, televised gypsies, adverts, builders outside, an ever expanding internet, a hungry stomach asking rudely for sausages. I’m only moaning about writing because I haven’t had any ideas today; it’s been a mental flat-liner. If I had thought of something I wouldn’t be drivelling like this, I would be joyfully tapping away, ignorantly expressing my opinions on whatever subject I was currently pretending to be an expert in.
I need a holiday. Anyone got one they don’t want? Sun, new food, different beer & alien spirits, Great Wonders, no tourists, doesn’t cost me a penny? I’ll take two. In the meantime it’s back to playing Splinter Cell and pottering about pennilessly. Something about this particular blog post seems impenetrably difficult to write. No doubt it is similarly excruciating to read. I haven’t done anything interesting over the last couple of days, and my brain has definitely checked out temporarily. Perhaps I’m coming down with something. I did wake up with a weird sinus headache, and am overcome with lethargy. Symptom Checker tells me I have Sleep Apnoea; I also now have hypochondria. Let’s not delve into the murky and depressing world of online self-diagnosis. Bad idea.
On a vaguely related note, I really think I need to do more exercise; and I would if it wasn’t so boring. The idea of going to a gym doesn’t interest me, and is prohibitively expensive; running around the street is just weird, plus I don’t have any running shoes; don’t have a bike; do have an exercise bike, but the seat is a bit too hard, and I can’t think of any other excuses, I just can’t be arsed, ok. Let’s get a routine going: up with the cock-a-doodle-doo; a stint on the cycle, whilst listening to an improving audio book or podcast, and then something or other else until the end of the day, before the whole horrible routine starts over again. Happy happy joy joy! And tomorrow I’ll be back with a much better blog post, possibly.
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