It only happens about once every year. And, here we are, it’s happening today.
I’m sitting here, all set to write my blog post for the week. Window open, sunshine streaming in, neighbour’s strimmer buzzing down the way. I’m raring to go. It’s just, well, you know… ‘bit embarrassing…
I don’t know what to write about.
Generally, the subject of the weekly post just presents itself at my feet. Sometimes I have to squeeze a bit.
What happened this week? What annoyed me? What made me smile? What do I reckon I’ve learned?
The main advantage I have is that I’m never really trying to impress anyone. That’s why it’s usually so easy to do. I don’t really care if you, the reader, are overly amused, outraged or educated. Any given post is just a tile in a mosaic that pretty-much fills a wall at this stage. I have nothing to gain and not much to lose from my weekly scribblings. That all serves to make it easier to do.
Except on weeks like this.
It’s not that nothing has happened this week. Lots of stuff happened. Just not the kind of stuff that congeals readily into a blog post.
Oh, oh, I got my haircut. My long-time haircutters and friends in Staunton’s have organised a very tight ship where nothing is too much trouble for them and where all the fun and banter still slips through the masks and the shields. My curly hair had caused a bit of a stir 'cos I stuck a photo up on Facebook and some people thought my ungainly locks had something to contribute. It was all quite flattering, but they had to go. I’m back to the shorter hair me now and I feel the better for it.
On days like these, where I can’t think of very much to say, there is always a nagging little fear. The fear that I might say too much. It’s fine when there is firm ground to stand on when you’re scribbling a post. But, on days like these, when you venture off in search of something to write, you can quickly find yourself down in the swamp dredging up something dubious and ever so slightly manky.
Sometimes all of this rambling stuff gets cut out. The very writing of rubbish like this sometimes prompts an idea. You run with that and then this first part becomes completely redundant, a mere prelude to the actual coherent post that evolved from it. Snip it off and leave it on the cutting room floor where it belongs and… and…
Nah. ‘Ain’t happening.
I could just post nothing this week. That might be the wise thing to do. I’m away tomorrow anyway so it’ll have to go up late tonight if it’s going to go up at all. Just give it a miss. Take one of your ‘weeks off'. I think I average about 45 posts a year so there are always quite a few ‘weeks off'. Let this be one of them. Nobody minds. I know, I know.
But, somehow, in the collective scheme of things, in the weeks where I’m busy saying absolutely nothing I’m still saying something in a strange sort of way. A blank space contributes to the overall mosaic where no space at all gives nothing.
So here we are…
The weather’s been shit. I don’t mind so much. I still remember how extraordinary April and May were and I know we can’t have sunshine all the time or we’ll just be the Kalahari Desert and who the hell wants that anyway? Today is a little better than it has been.
There are a thousand things I would be better off doing than sitting here typing this pointless shit. But I like it. I know it’s part of the process of trying to create. You have to stay in the chair, you have to work the medium. It won’t happen if you don’t.
I’ll do better next week. At least, I hope I will. Something will happen. Something will occur. A post will issue. It won’t be much good, but, sure as fuck, it’ll be better than this.
Sorry for wasting your time today.
Thanks for reading.
Why are you still here?