A Cautious Return
I'm back, like it or not. The fingers were getting itchy again after neglecting this page for an unforgivably long time. In fact I've neglected a lot of things for an unforgivably long time. We'll just have to see if a bit of "free typing" will be an effective salve.
Many seasons have passed and I've dropped my leaves a couple of times. But hopefully that heralds the return of spring.
One of the big problems of not writing anything for a long time is that so much has happened that you can't remember any of it. The facts no longer come easily to the mind, nor do the correct words to properly describe those facts that you can't recall anyway. So if there is any vagary obfuscating the verity in this airy persiflage of scuttlebuttery, I apologise now. One great stumbling block, after this length of time, is that as soon as an idea pops into your head your mind leaps diagonally over about six other subjects - it's like thrashing someone at draughts except you have no idea where you started. Your mind is incapable of doing anything other than to digress...
...I've always wondered if "digress" is the feminine form of "diger" when you have a cold?...
...sorry, I digress (but not in a "Me Darzan" kind of way).
So all I can do is to sit and wait expectantly for inspiration to rain down on me. Sadly, all I'm getting so far is the literary equivalent of a fleeting summer shower that evaporates as soon as it hits the pavement, fogs your glasses, and leaves you with the aroma of something you only half remember from your childhood. Not very helpful - Tolstoy must have lived in Manchester.
Perhaps there's nothing nice I really want to write about any more, and writing about irritations would be more productive? Those "pull here to open" tabs on packets of bacon for example! I'm convinced they were only invented after salt-mining and rock-breaking were outlawed as punishments with which to waste time and break a man's spirit. And why on the back of bank cards do they print the number to call if it gets lost or stolen? A right lot of good that is!
(I'm on a roll here.)
Why haven't pigeons been outlawed? Why is a yak's milk pink? Are oranges not the only fruit? Why can't the health service refuse mental health provision to those who habitually watch reality TV shows? More to the point, why am I not writing for the Daily Mail?!
Well, that was cathartic! Only a start, but a start nevertheless. Sadly chaos, farce, improbability and dysfunction get the words flowing more quickly than the blessed things I overlook. Ho hum. I'm just going to gather up my remaining leaves and wait patiently for spring.
Many seasons have passed and I've dropped my leaves a couple of times. But hopefully that heralds the return of spring.
One of the big problems of not writing anything for a long time is that so much has happened that you can't remember any of it. The facts no longer come easily to the mind, nor do the correct words to properly describe those facts that you can't recall anyway. So if there is any vagary obfuscating the verity in this airy persiflage of scuttlebuttery, I apologise now. One great stumbling block, after this length of time, is that as soon as an idea pops into your head your mind leaps diagonally over about six other subjects - it's like thrashing someone at draughts except you have no idea where you started. Your mind is incapable of doing anything other than to digress...
...I've always wondered if "digress" is the feminine form of "diger" when you have a cold?...
...sorry, I digress (but not in a "Me Darzan" kind of way).
So all I can do is to sit and wait expectantly for inspiration to rain down on me. Sadly, all I'm getting so far is the literary equivalent of a fleeting summer shower that evaporates as soon as it hits the pavement, fogs your glasses, and leaves you with the aroma of something you only half remember from your childhood. Not very helpful - Tolstoy must have lived in Manchester.
Perhaps there's nothing nice I really want to write about any more, and writing about irritations would be more productive? Those "pull here to open" tabs on packets of bacon for example! I'm convinced they were only invented after salt-mining and rock-breaking were outlawed as punishments with which to waste time and break a man's spirit. And why on the back of bank cards do they print the number to call if it gets lost or stolen? A right lot of good that is!
(I'm on a roll here.)
Why haven't pigeons been outlawed? Why is a yak's milk pink? Are oranges not the only fruit? Why can't the health service refuse mental health provision to those who habitually watch reality TV shows? More to the point, why am I not writing for the Daily Mail?!
Well, that was cathartic! Only a start, but a start nevertheless. Sadly chaos, farce, improbability and dysfunction get the words flowing more quickly than the blessed things I overlook. Ho hum. I'm just going to gather up my remaining leaves and wait patiently for spring.
posted by fwyalchen at 2:55 PM
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