I’m dog tired. It’s Friday. I feel like I’ve been applying for a million jobs, had a half million phone calls about applications, writing every night, blogging every night, trying to catch up on reading or social media, because I have to and can’t turn away and it’s not a matter of being addicted to it, but in fact a matter of my potential career.
I have been meaning to write about social media, maybe I get to it over the weekend. For now I will leave it at that.
I’ve written today. Pen on paper. Messy writing, because my desk at work isn’t meant for me to sit and write on the old fashioned way. For this particular project I may very well stick with pen and paper until I am ready to revise.
I seem to be channelling Douglas Adams. It is the very oddest sensation, I might add, because I never considered writing anything remotely science fiction and all of a sudden this idea hits me and I can’t walk away from it.
I’m just going to run with it and see what happens.
I must write every day. We’ve established that. And believe you me, I’m not posting this again in order to prove to you that this is what I’m doing. You only get to see my blogs, which at this time needs to be enough.
But being as tired as I am right now, I want to sleep walk into bed and not sit in the darkness of my room and write some more in order to publish something, anything on my blog. I don’t have to prove to you that I am indeed writing every day.
This is where I am starting to feel this compulsion that I have to throw out something at least. Brief maybe, or not even very relevant, because I’m not actually saying very much.
Consider this a journal entry. Just a tiny little bit of self-reflection. On a needs must basis, because I feel I’m letting myself down, if I don’t post something. Usually I go the lazy route and post a video or a picture. I have plenty of pictures I’m planning to post at some point.
Just for the heck of it. I hope it made you smile. This is the clock I would like to live by.
And no, despite the heading, I am not actually out of words. If ever I will have a gravestone. I suppose it would read something like “Eventually she did run out of words and now she can finally RIP”. Let’s talk about that in another 70 or so years.
I had a clock like that my boss gave me years ago. Don’t now where it is anymore, but I am always saying whatever.