Write. Something dammit. Growl. Today has been chaotically busy and yet not wasted. But too chaotic for peace of mind. I have been doing fuckall with my exercise regime coz a foot injury has left me still curing the vestiges of a bloody cut. It has also fuelled all my excuses for not doing daily exercise save for walking. Pathetic. I am not pleased. So tomorrow I start – regardless of my lazy bones. My misaligned hip bones have already started giving me twinges of pain in their usual nasty fashion to remind me that I am not going to escape being a sloth. Snort. I remember my driven days and wonder where the hell I have put that energy? Where did I let it go? I obviously need to harness it again. And fast.
I have redeemed my reading skills at least. I finished a book in 2 days after years. If not, all other books, of late, took a good few weeks, months or years even to finish. But this book was good. Readable. And it was a sort of medical mystery so I enjoyed it though I did feel that it kind of lost the energy of the plot somewhere down the line. But that’s my view. Anyhow it was a good book. Now I started another. I remember my voracious reading days. I never watched TV. I only read books. Now I don’t watch TV as such, just episodes of Poirot and Marple, and don’t really read save for archaeology stuff related to my masters. I have become, quite the bloody bore. I am wondering if it’s just me or a Covid lockdown induced frog in the well syndrome I have embraced unwittingly. My day has been busy, productive but unsatisfactory. I wished I had time to think. Not sit through endless meetings. Ugh. Why can’t people function without repeating and discussing the same bloody thing all the time? What do they need – affirmation? From whom? Tomorrow spells another boring day full of meetings. Coz old fashioned idiots foolishly imagine that meetings equate work. No. A bloody meeting is an excuse for procrastination. And an opportunity to waste time. Grr.
Anyhow I am stunted in thought today. It’s cascading with many things but they are sadly not very clear and seem to be tumbling about like clothes in a washing machine on spin mode. I am yawning wide enough to swallow an Ox. Time for bed. But Nightwish is keeping me company with a rather apt song called Romanticide. Definitely what most of us are suffering from. A lack of romance in our lives, killed by hook up Tinder loving care and cynical narcissism. Bloody hell. We were definitely born into the wrong era, the wrong country and the wrong generation. Sigh.
Never mind that now. Focus on me. That’s what I am trying to do. I have got thus far and no further. But we shall see to that. The memories fall like soft snow on skin – cold, piercing and yet strangely numbing. It is not easy to forget. But it must be done. Romanticide is good. For now.