I write erratically these days because to write seems a trivial pursuit in times like now. How can you write at a time like this? Rome burns while I scribble.
It’s Friday night here, I’ve had my dinner and watched a movie. I came to my study to check my email, and progress on the shop. I sat. Seeing a friend online I stopped to chat for a few minutes. In between I took the opportunity to browse through the back pages of my blog. It’s a useful exercise occasionally. You remember things you had forgotten. Sometimes you find yourself surprised at the deftness with which you have written. There are moments that you find yourself re-connected directly with that moment through the words you used to record it. It’s useful to remember that everything has happened before.
I’ve been pretty enigmatic about the state of my affairs lately. That’s typical. These are things I don’t like sharing. You might think it strange, but the primary reason is male pride. I should be better than that, I know, but it’s not really something I want to relinquish. It’s like my preferred vice. All the same I realise it’s unfair to allude to a situation without properly explaining it. I intend to write more openly on it at some point, I think. But not now.
Now is just writing. The screen glows in the dark. Rigby stands by the desk seeking my attention. The TV is on in the other room. At some point I will go to bed. At some point I will sleep and it will be another day and then another tomorrow and this thing I am part of will continue, to be resolved I don’t know how. Now is now. I feel it. I think you know that feeling. Time slips by with more weight. Is that the word? Weight? I guess I mean you’re aware of it. For once it seems like something you could weigh in your hand. It still goes on, but you live in it more keenly. Perhaps this is what it’s like the night before you face the firing squad.
One thing I want to explain is how it is in me. Generally I operate on a low gear. I’m naturally cool in the sense that neither my reactions or emotions are violent. I have my moments certainly, but generally I’m too busy observing and working things out at the same time to waste it expressing needless agitation. It seems irrelevant, and I like to understand.
That remains in me, and I would be lost now without it. It’s true, however, that tempest has been introduced to my life.
It seems a natural element tempest, like fire or surging water. It’s unpredictable and beyond real control. It licks at you, seeks to drown you at times. If I were not so cool then it would have happened by now. I’d be gone.
It’s difficult though. Right now it seems the more natural element. There is something diabolically fascinating in it. It compels attention, it draws you to the edge. Just one more step? But no. Not yet.
So it pulls at me. It’s there, always, like a river of lava seeking a way to erupt. There’s no future in that though. I know that. I have to turn away, though there isn’t a moment I don’t feel it in me. I have to keep going and stay focussed. I have to keep believing even when it defies belief. I have to keep doing, striving, angling, hoping. That cool part of me has to stay cool because it’s the only way I will survive this. It’s the one thing that can see me home.
I’m ok. I say that under advisement. I’m not great. I’m not really ok. Those are the facts. The point is, I’m a lot better than I should be. I could lose now. I may lose regardless. For now I’m refusing to. Refusing is insufficient without science – hoping, and all the will in the world, is not enough if you can’t actively and intelligently work to change things. That’s what I keep trying, without success as yet.
Maybe I’m a fool, but I think I’ll find a way. And if I don’t I’ll survive anyway, somehow. Can’t do it though without being strong.