Compel-I-can. At least I’m winging it.

Wow. The last few days of entries have been straight up waffle. Nothing of substance, just lazy saccharine observations and meandering prose. Sorely lacking the heft and depth that this dense cluster of meaning is known to output.

I’ve got nothing on my mind, so get ready for some more of it.

It’s a pity too, because today is the day that traffic arrives from Facebook and my views typically spike. Don’t lie, that’s probably why you’re here. Unless you’re one of those odd individuals who googled marshmallow porn or snuggie porn (says the odd individual who wrote about those things in the first place). I’ve been busy doing things, seeing friends and enjoying myself. By the time writing has rolled around each evening I’ve already had one eye closed. Seeing as I was a teenage Metallica fan I sleep with one open and grip my pillow tight, so I’ve been practically sleep scribing. This fatigue meant I was too tired for my regular Sunday evening Facebook post. So instead you’ll have this drivel to tide you over for another week. Full disclosure (because that’s kind of the point here) I normally try to come up with a more gripping topic to write on each time I’m ready to post. Sunday is the contemplative end of the week, allowing me to gaze back at the seven days behind me and pontificate pensively. For the most part, this works. I find my equilibrium and daytime writing means I’m not rushed or driven by an urge to sweep my task aside at the behest of sleep.

On weekdays though, I rarely have the discipline to start before 1am. If I ever have late company, as I have recently, it gets harder to focus on this little project of mine. It becomes a hindrance, penance for some prescribed inadequacy. I feel the compulsion to grow, sculpt my craft. At this stage I still have no idea if I’m actually improving. At times when I’d rather burrow into someone’s snuggles on offer, this cold luminescent plastic holds less allure. If only I felt a tangible chemical reaction that spurred me onwards. Where’s the oxytocin or endorphin rush flooding my brain with motivation to progress? I want some mental “molly” occurring to keep me accelerating like a steam engine. What coal do I have to keep this train running? I’d wager that validation, while swell, pales in comparison to personal satisfaction. My incentive is to consider what I do to be valuable, worth the investment of time, energy and sleep deprivation that I put into it. While a kind word here or there is nice, it’s not necessary. An over-inflated ego doesn’t do much for me, really. Knowing that I’m on the right track keeps me reaching, but if enough people were to tell me that I’d made it it’d probably kill the buzz of the hunt for perfecting the craft.

To really perfect what I’m throwin’ down, I need to focus. This is where my issues come in. It’s not always easy to know what to write about and as such my topics are all over the place. Equal parts a strength and a failure of this project. In the same vein, my divergent view on what is interesting verses what isn’t. I’m big on finding the insane in the inane. I don’t always look at the same things in the same way that others do, which means that my writing can often be both intriguing and polarising. Then again, I’m now searching for meaning in an undertaking that has as little grasp on sanity as my dreams. Maybe that’s where I need to be looking for guidance. Give me 5 minutes and I’ll give up my consciousness in favour of its opposite.

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