The Days of Null Activity

[kingtycoon]

It snowed last night and I didn't do anything about it. I didn't even try to stop it or prevent it happening. This is because I can't do that. It's also because for whatever reason, for the first time I can think of - I don't mind, I don't mind the snow.

I don't drive in it, I stand for a minute and read my book. Right now, The Master and Margarita - new to me, I let myself fall behind in reading. I let myself slip away. I'm trying to remember to do things that future me will be glad I did. Pushups, eating meals, writing books. I'm having a hard, hard time writing this book this year. I'm having a hard time wanting to type.

Now, typing it out - the mechanical satisfaction of click-clack on the keys, of words jumping up on the screen barely coaxed, and of the ideas and their signifying words shooting out my fingers faster than the screen can display - that's all quite satisfying and goodly, that's among life's pleasurable easy actions, one of the purely meditative activities that prompts the neutrally good feeling.

Still, I don't want to. Huddled up feeling secret behind blinds and hearing people on the street, the police were parked outside for hours last night, doing who knows what, painting the dark interior alternate blue and red - blue and then red, I sit on my lonesome in the dark, woken from a failed attempt at sleep, letting the computer screen paint whatever color on my face it paints. Not painting mind you, not doing a damn thing that would be useful. Emailing, people, ladies - whatever, I want to meet more ladies, that's been established, that's what I'm doing now. Alone in the dark behind the blinds in the red-blue-and then - red and then blue dark. It turns out that that counts, as a way to talk to people. It's a weird old world.

Today I came to work and had my new warm coat and didn't mind the crunching rime and didn't mind the bracing chill and don't mind much at all except missing/skipping breakfast, that, I should remember to stop doing. Read on the bus, read on the next bus, just in time, perfectly navigating the world with clockwork precision, cross the street just in time, the lights all working in my favor. It's a good enough morning. I feel, almost guilty about using it to work.

I stand at my cube and make chitchat - looming over the barrier, this cracks everyone up.


At work I'm capable and efficient, as is best. Write the documentation, how to do what needs doing with your phone, with your computer. The network's weird instability cannot be found, it's a good day. I write up the instructions, disperse them, give explanations, typing again, warming up the reflexes, getting ready, able, better at it, training the rythym into my wrists and... Maybe tonight I'll type this thing out, this book. Maybe I... Maybe this is the best book I'll write. I do think that I get better, year over year, but worse about things too, this, I think, I'll give more time to, maybe It'll be long, maybe it won't. I'll tap out the first chapter and show it to people. That's what I'll do. That's the smart thing.

Comments

[calico-pye.livejournal.com]

I like the way you write :-)

[kingtycoon.livejournal.com]

It's really lovely when a stranger is nice to you from out of nowhere. Thanks!

[rasa.livejournal.com]

This looks exactly like a street I used to walk down to get to my friend's house in Guelph. The long corrugated building was a hat factory.

[kingtycoon.livejournal.com]

This looks just like the asphalt factory in Cleveland where I work... Hats would be cooler though.

[forsakengirl.livejournal.com]

I like this :)

[kingtycoon.livejournal.com]

Hey, thanks!

[fordmadoxfraud.livejournal.com]

I have kind of mixed feelings about Master & Margarita. The historical fiction parts were unforgettable, and absolutely moved me; all the contemporary stuff left me kind of cold.