I have not so much been avoiding writing as running (in as far as it is possible to run while firmly glued to a chair) away from any semblance of fiction. It has even got to the stage where I was considering starting a spreadsheet to chart the time and type of displacement activity I was taking part in, until it dawned on me that this was in itself a displacement activity. My life would probably be much richer where it not for alcohol and spreadsheets.
Can you imagine Excel, the drink? It would probably be composed of different coloured cells that you popped open into a Function mixer and almost invariably ended up with brown, tasteless sludge.
I have never had greater access to entertainment and yet never felt the sensation of time passing as much either. In five years I expect to be so metaphorically burdened by my own guilt that I will have to walk around with a wheelbarrow. Or maybe by then things will have advance to the stage that we can literally divorce our opinions. I certainly have spent much too long with an abusive-partner-thought. Although it’s not very Catholic. There’s probably a law somewhere against not feeling guilt. That’s why it’s branded — Catholic Guilt. And you get to upgrade to Catholic Guilt Complex after two dysfunctional relationships and fifteen impure thoughts. Or something.
Hmm. I need to draw a chart of the times I used the following — ‘anyhoo’, ‘or something’ and ‘but I digress’. And at work I need to.… sigh, let’s not go there. Right. Back to procrastinating properly.
