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Wednesday, December 30, 2020

Ramblosaurus Rex

Why can't I constantly think up of something important to say? 

I know its probably humanly impossible. But that would be such a great gift. 

Especially to a writer with deadlines. Or someone who wants to be a writer but doesn't always have something to say. 

Maybe there is a way to constantly think up of something important. I think anything, any thought can potentially become important if we dwell on it for a long enough time. But that's difficult. Mainly because we get distracted easily, I guess. Distracted by the phone. By a noise outside your home. Distracted by a sudden discomfort in your posture. Or even distracted by the prose you just wrote. 

Getting distracted by what you just wrote is quite dangerous. You start to re-read and automatically start correcting errors, in spelling or grammar. You also start to rephrase sentences to make them sound better. You might have repeated the use of the same word too much, causing you to either check the thesaurus or  rephrase... strike that... modify the sentence completely. By the time you get back to where you were, you're either unsure of the quality of the piece you've just written or you're unable to move forward.

Which is where I am currently. I'm waiting for the next thought that could push this passage forward. I've given up on the quality of what I just wrote hoping that the rambling will be engaging enough to bring you to this point. Maybe I'm a bit too optimistic. You could have stopped reading a while ago. I've probably not said anything important enough nor have I made much of an effort to be a little funny at least. Yes, the "rephrase.. strike that.. modify" thing was an attempt at humour, but it was mostly only to humour me. I would consider this piece of writing a success if it drew out an involuntary snort from you, forget even a chuckle.

Okay. Enough of all the self-deprecation. I have obviously underestimated myself. I have reached paragraph number 4 fairly quickly and if you've continued to read up to this point, we should become best friends. Maybe not best friends, but I'll buy you a beer at least. Considering I've pushed my luck with you for a fair bit, its better to make best use of whatever attention you're giving me quickly. By coming to the main point of this passage. 

Which is... The importance of rambling and its effect on your writing skills? I don't know man. It mostly has no point but it could have a point if I can think of something else to write tomorrow. So until tomorrow... Thank you for your patience. Truly. Your reading this post completely is both a blessing and a gift to me. 

Cheers!


Monday, December 28, 2020

The final countdown

10..... 

I gaze at the slowly rotating ceiling fan. The imperfect ball bearings slightly squeaking everytime the bent fin passes the 9-o-clock position. 

9.....

I should increase the fan speed. That usually eliminates the squeaking. I glance at the fan switch.

8...

This requires me to get out of bed. Should I? Does the squeak actually bother me that much?

7...

The sound of a car swooshing past on the road outside distracts me. The roar of its engine is accompanied by the beat of a distinctly recognisable party-anthem that dopplers away with the car. I think I know this song.

6...

I try to remember the song. Its on my now-defunct gym playlist. I get distracted by the ceiling fan's squeak.

5...

I once again consider getting out of bed to reach for the fan switch. But that would make the room colder. I involuntarily pull my bedcover up to my chin.

4...

A mix of loud voices from multiple directions gain steam, as midnight approaches. Each of those set of voices yell with the conviction of getting the exact count to midnight correctly.

3...

I dwell on those voices, realising the squeak of the fan would be nothing compared to the cacophony of revelry that will follow for the next couple of hours.

2...

I hear what sounds like gunshots all around the city. But I realise they are nothing but rockets and firecrackers released a few seconds early.

1...

I sigh and sit up, reaching out to my bedside table for the one device that will provide me relief as I enter the next great year of my life.

0....

Amongst all the loud voices renting the night sky and startling the lone mongrel on the street, I audibly smirk as I point the device towards what looks like a bare patch on the opposite wall, and click the big red button. For a moment, I see myself reflected on a smooth surface. The next moment, a warm, red glow and a resounding hum fills my room.

Happy new year.