The cursor blinks in front of me, as innocent as a lost puppy searching for its master. My eyes search for the vicarious part of my soul so that my hands can press the keys to form words. But it cannot be found. Instead, my fingers are chewed until they resemble cigarettes stubbed by lepers. This is how I write my blog.
How do they do it? All those prolific writers who pump out material every year, who weave words with their computers and pens. Their imagination is as inexhaustible as my sex drive, and its directed more productively. Is it because of their discipline? Faulkner is said to have woken up at 9 and start writing, every day. PTA does the same thing. Rian Johnson writes late into the night, where “there are no distractions, no phone calls, everyone’s asleep.” I could do that, except I either wake up too late or too early and I a soporific by nine. And in between? Oh, that’s for life, isn’t it? Do as others do.
I think I’ve lost my ability to write prose. I could approach it with great ease, but that was because I wasn’t conscious of it. Now I am repulsed by the prose I type, every word a smear upon what I wish I could write. But it’s not too late; English class in college should spur the Hemingway in me. I tried reading Hemingway once: The Old Man and the Sea. I gave up three-fourths into the book. Speaking of reading, I’ve got a huge list of unfinished books to tackle.
This blog post was supposed to be about the New Year and what that means for me, but I got sidetracked. I sidetrack myself often.
When the clock struck 12, I felt no different. My body parts didn’t swap places, or an epiphany of who I was did not reveal itself to me (I’m told it’s too early for that to happen). Instead, on January 1, 2013, I felt regret. Regret that I was getting older, regret that time can’t stay the fuck still and leave us all in peace. Time has got to be man’s greatest enemy, for it brings heartbreak, penury, responsibility and ultimately death with it. I’m at a point in my life where I have to make my own decisions and take control of what I want my life to be. I’d rather just crawl in a hole and vegetate for eternity (along with the Internet and books and movies and friends and…). I have to shave, drive, vote (not just yet, but I will) and work and I don’t want to do any of these things.
But in 2013, what do I want to change about me to make myself better and to achieve things I want to see me achieve. There’s a few things that come to mind:
- Make a proper short film.
- Write every single fucking day (already broken, but salvageable).
- Read over 100 books.
- Read the news and exercise everyday (make them part of the routine).
- Attain a new skill (drawing, perhaps?).
- Learn 12 courses from Coursera.
- Learn 365 new words and use them on the blog.
That is all that comes to mind now. I think the toughest one is the number 7. I am going on a Himalayan trek on my own in 6 days, and I can’t wait. This year is already separating itself from the others. But I finally understand what my grandad told me about how time flies in a flash; these last two months have seemingly slipped past me, even though significant things have happened to me. Someone invent a time machine already.
This is the kind of ranty ramble that makes for a New Year post, isn’t it? I think I’ll save proper writing for later.