I’ve spent the last twenty minutes or so coming back and forth to this page, thinking about what to write and how to write it. It then struck me that this is the entire point of this experiment, I can write about whatever the bloody hell I like. On that basis, I’m going to write whatever comes to mind whilst waiting for my tea to cook. Crazy, I know.
I should pass comment on how utterly grateful I am for all the positive comments and remarks I’ve had about this blog, it’s really quite nice. Whether it’s on a text, in person, or getting a ‘Hello Mr Blogger’ when calling another department at work, it has been brilliant. Maybe I’m not too bad at this thing. Not that I think I’m bad at it, I am fully aware at how fucking amazing I am at this. Ish.
One resounding comment I have had is ‘I can hear your voice as I read it’, so I must apologise for that. It also sprung to mind that I could take full advantage of this, and write some truly awful things purely so you’ll hear it in my voice and never walk the same again. I’m going to bide my time with that one, I promise.
I didn’t think I’d get back into writing quite as nicely as I have done. I’m enjoying it much more than I thought I would. Even just a few minutes ago when trying to think of something to write about, the feeling of obligation was non-existent. It is lovely to do something you simply want to do for the sheer hell of it. Here ends the narcissistic thanking of nice comments about whatever spouts from my mind.
I realise I’m banging on about bloody writing. I’ll stop. I’ll bang on instead about next week, which brings with it an entire week off to do absolutely anything I wish, the height of glorious selfishness. I’ve got a much needed haircut booked, a couple of gym sessions (HENCH) and an overnight stay in Nottingham to partake in utter debauchery. Apart from that, nada. And I cannot wait.
There is an awful lot to be said about having no plans. When this scenario plays out at the weekend, however, I am good at moaning about it. If it wasn’t entirely obvious, I live blissfully alone. 99% of the time this is indeed blissful; no obligation, no unsolicited noise, no sharing of anything. There is the common occurrence that I’ve been looking forward to a quiet weekend from Tuesday-Friday, said-quiet weekend appears and it ends up boring as fuck. I spend half a second thinking going to work on a Saturday would be alright, I then fortunately get a hold of my senses again.
When this scenario plays out on a week off, there’s no such thing as boredom. It’s a complete novelty. Start watching a film in bed at 9am? CRAY. Want a shower IN DAYLIGHT at 11am? WILD. Have an actual lunch at actual lunchtime? STOP IT! The world ends up being your lobster bitch, and I am all for it. If I end up bored now, it’s all your fault.
Whilst I embrace the fact I can type whatever I want, I’ve been thinking if there’s anything I should write about in particular. Themes, subjects, or a complete challenge. To say I’m up for anything is a tad understated, so I’ll open the floor to you. Because I’m a complete wanker, I’ve set up an email address for you to abuse – firstname.lastname@example.org – do your worst. Anonymity is guaranteed, but I’ll never look at you in the same way again.
No music today, a soundtrack of this week’s Great Pottery Throw down adorned the writing.