Ignoring the cycle

Things have changed for me during the last week: I’m running out of time, so it would appear, whereas I used to have lots of “free time” at my disposal just two weeks ago.

Then again: there’d always be the odd computer-related job here, some chores in dire need of taking care of, small fires lighting up the west wing of my country-house again – the usual. Every few weeks or so, I’d actually run out of time due to a string of events beyond my control, only to find myself sitting in front of a computer screen late at night. “A wasted day, all in all,” whispered a mini-me to myself, both too tired to come up with anything original; and so we slipped into a depressing kind of sleep, only to awake to the realization of yesterday having past entirely, and today already halfway-gone.

A wasted day, perhaps: but surely not as wasted as all of those other days, where I couldn’t even muster the strength to fire up a word processor and type in a few words. Rather, I’d stick to my usual routine of checking out the same dozen websites for hours on an end; interrupting the process every so often to go for a quick run, cook some dinner or read a few pages from the very last inter-war-related book off of my local library’s dusty bookshelves. Only to find myself sitting in front of a computer screen late at night once more. “You can’t afford to waste this day,” a little angel whispered softly in my ear, and indeed: something halfway original would appear on-screen before Morpheus managed to put on a lock on me for the next ten hours or so.

To the outside world, one day seemed more successful than the other. People would come to my website, see a new article and – depending on the article’s actual quality (or the reader’s interpretation of any such article) – think to themselves: “Well, it’s not great – but at least it’s better than nothing at all.” This despite the fact that my “wasted” day – a day lacking new content, if you must – might have been much more helpful and productive in the long run, both to myself and my readers. Browsing the same dozen pages websites just doesn’t make for interesting material; although my fear of becoming inspired by anything third-party is probably well-known to most of my readership by now, I have to admit there can be beauty in a change of scenery, a meeting of strangers or a strange smell oozing through unknown skies.

Repetition” in and by itself has been a guiding line on Bladsite ever since I started writing, a few weeks ago. It is most certainly an interesting phenomenon because we cannot seem to evade it. The inevitable nature of repeating patterns is worthy of being analysed, the resulting analysis worthy of publishing in all its imperfection; said imperfection is part of the repeating process, after all. Our attempts to out-run, shun or even destroy things like boredom, a lack of inspiration or the inability to come up with a third thing to complete one’s very own literal trinity – they seem foolish in the grand scheme of it all.

Rarely ever, though, will you find someone who thinks of a novel’s “main story line” as the most amusing detail held within it. More likely, readers will recount seemingly useless anecdotes or captivating dialogues as the parts that stood out for them personally. Sometimes, something relevant to the main story line happens to be the most remarkable element of all – a “plot turn” comes to mind. It’s the illusion of the string being broken, the patterns being reversed that makes us ignore the overall picture: the story line has rendered itself a repeating process through the use of predictable methods.

This is why I’m not panicking (yet), whenever I happen to skip a beat on my own blog; although skipping too many beats would inevitably result in expectation patterns being adjusted accordingly, for now it’s not too big a deal. There’s no money on the line, no reputation harmed – I needn’t explain myself to anybody but myself. You all get to be witnesses on this show trial, and trials tend to go on recess every now and then. Although the verdict is a solid “Guilty on all counts” every single time, I see no reason to stop defending myself against my own, horrible accusations.

The only problem I’ve encountered last week, was a shortage of time. And the more I think about it, the more I feel the need of adding another thousand subpoenas to my personal record. My life has taken a turn for the better, that much is certain. It’d be illogical for the one thing I love most – writing, reading and re-writing my readings – to suddenly take a turn for the worse, both in terms of quality and quantity. Especially considering the fact that there is so much more to write about, these days. No longer is my brain trying to eat itself in search of food for thought – rather, it seems to have been immobilized by the sheer overflow of edible material found along last week’s nutritious pathways.

For a few days, I thought I had found the perfect excuse to stop being “this” me, to become a previous version of myself that kept everything hidden within the depths of his dormant heart; not to share anything specific with anybody in particular. The commute, the walks towards and in between auditoriums, the socializing part where I’d meet new friends and spend time with them throughout the day – and let’s not forget the responsibility of keeping tabs on homework, processing school assignments and all that. Surely, the combination of all such elements would never allow me to publish a daily piece of mind fodder specifically aimed at all of you out there – my esteemed readers, the Bladsite audience of which you’re currently part (and as such, part of what I’ve allowed myself to become), right?

Well, no. Wrong. The story line might be subject to the same repeating process – but this is exactly the time for filling in those amusing sidetracks, those hints towards breaking the cycle, these illusions of actually “getting there”. The commute is a beautiful subject, on which I can choose to write in real-time, even. The walks, the talks – the lessons even: fantastic plot changes, new characters, plenty of time to put all of them into the very same maelstrom that seemed so pointless just days ago. I won’t find myself sitting in front of a computer screen in the middle of the night any more: Morpheus has reclaimed that particular plot. Well: he can have it, because there’s plenty of different plots to pick from, and I can’t wait to start cultivating.

Running out of time”. It might turn out to be the ideal medicine for this disease we call “procrastination”, this staring at a screen which holds no beauty. Let’s not waste these precious days and years any longer; let’s turn them into the shiny little details we’ll all remember in the end. Even if we’re just fooling ourselves, let’s try and make this a memorable show trial.

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