tick

It's like a bash in the head- this series of nothing. An ambition that is so far out of reach the height above my head is laughable, craning neck worth of silliness. I wish I had a plan, a responsibility, a notion, a helpful hint as to what it is I should be doing right now.


I should write, I know this, I know I should and it would be in my ultimate best interest to steady my hand and my mind and pen to paper in the most modern of forms and shelf every other issue in my head.

But I can't.

I lack the the lustre of steadiness. I miss things, people, thoughts and memories. I don't understand the simplest of people and am truly perplexed by my own head right now. Is that OK? Writeable- No.

A plan for the Summer, we all make them. They are the new years resolutions we try to rekindle. I have a reading list, a set of challenges and a bravery gauge I wish to undertake in order to what exactly? Why am I putting a time limit on things. I can still achieve these things if it is raining outside and dark before 6pm. I am not a child, the Summer freedom is not an easy breeze now- it doesn't exist.

I think I hate the people I love as well as like, loathe and tolerate them. I am an all rounder in terms of emotions it would seem and the only person who can stand by it for long enough and put up with the motion sickness? ah, that will just be me then.

Sit in a room with the clock ticking, the time drips off the wall like rebellious paint which point blank refuses to dry- but I will watch it. Sitting in a old musky chair so past it's youth of fashion it is unrecognisable in function. Waiting for... the wall to paint the right colour? The paint to drip off completely and puddle at my bare feet in the hope of colouring something? The batteries to run out and the ticking to stop?

Or am I waiting for nothing, but am so far beyond realising that there is nothing to wait for that I hide it.....