The other day I noticed a crack along the ceiling of our flat. It ran from the top of the southeast wall in the kitchen to the ceiling light in the middle of the room. From there, it seems as though a number of cracks were spread out in every direction, mainly from south to north and north to south.
These cracks are much like the cracks in my mind, creating different avenues of thought: schizophrenic to say the least. It leads me to believe that this building will start falling apart within the next twelve months. This time next year, I’ll be finishing up a story or some such piece of writing, and look up through our newly created skylight. I’ll get a feeling of warmth that I am one with nature, and all its amenities. And then a raindrop will fall from the sky, and hit my cheek, running down it like a tear. It will be a cliché moment, but it will be poetic.
Now that my fourth week off work is beginning, I look back on these days I've had to myself. They've needed a creative process, but there seems to have been one lacking. I have tried, oh have I tried. I've strung together a few pages of words, but they have turned out to be nothing more than incoherent drivel. Blabber. I constantly think to myself that I don't write as much as I would like to. Time is always getting in the way. At least that's what I tell myself. But is it really the case, or am I just procrastinating?
It seems my life has been made up of procrastinations, but no longer! My medium will be Blogspot. With most likely about two weeks of free time left, I'm going to set aside time each day in order to accomplish what I want. This will be the start of something new. Something that I am doing for myself.
But the question I have is this: is Blogspot the avenue I need to use, or is it merely a street corner at which I will contemplate my journey?
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