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Another Time to Write



It's Saturday night!

A swinging Saturday night with nothing to do. So I figured I may as well pick up my writing tablet and waste some ink. So please don't expect me to be in a good mood today because, remember, it's Saturday night as I'm writing this and I have nothing to do! So if you're in a good mood and don't want to spoil it, then I would advise you not to read this. Or if you happen to be feeling particularly bad today and you don't want to feel worse, just set this back down and forget about it. Don't let it bother you that I would have then wasted my time and ink on writing this because as Gene Fowler explains so well, 

"Writing is easy: all you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until the drops of blood form on your forehead."

I am listening to a basketball game on the radio, and the T.V. is also on while I write this. You shouldn't be able to note the distractions in my writing because the basketball game is boring and the T.V. show is a repeat. The window and the blackness outside of it is about the only interesting thing around, and don't think of this as a distraction to me because the shades are pulled. I pondered upon whether I should turn off the basketball game and put on a CD – but finally decided that it might distract from my writing and could prevent me from indulging into some imaginative topic, earth shattering theory, or heart wrenching rack of truths stretched out by way of excruciating words.

So here I sit, paying no attention to the basketball game, just sort of staring at my records. For I have more albums (records) than c.d.’s, and I am not quite sure what to do with them other than to stare at them for hours a day. They are large and fragile and take up much space but at least I’m getting some use out of them.

Now (hours later), I am playing with my stopwatch, which was within reach, seeing how long I can make it in-between pauses pauses. Did you know that it takes 2.25 seconds for me to write the word "pauses?" I wrote it twice so that I could get an average. The act of reaching for the stopwatch and pressing the button, may have added a bit to that time.

Writing is good for my boredom. I transfer my boredom from my soul to the paper. I am sure that my boredom printed on paper makes for interesting reading, too. Like random drops of ink that fall upon a white surface it may be enlightening to stay and watch to see if they ever form into a two-symbol word, or a discernable thought.

When you've nothing to do - write. When you've nothing in mind-- write. You can always find something to write about (at least I can). It doesn't necessarily have to make sense (I've proven that many a times). Writing is better than tiddly-winks because you can keep losing the tidily-winks in the cracks in the ceiling. I had to stop playing tidily-winks all together for fear that I was widening those cracks and one day the ceiling was going to come crashing down on my head and I would lose my tiddlies. At least when I drop my pen it falls straight down and is easy to find when I wake up.

A quarter has gone by in the basketball game since I started wasting my ink, and the game is now over. I don't even know who won. I suppose I will read about it in tomorrow's paper. I turn the dial on a station playing some boring songs. I rack my brain for more things to write and it becomes apparent that I would much rather be in bed. But it is too early for bed, and I'm not really tired-- just bored. If I did go to bed now, I would have trouble sleeping, and would end up grabbing my tablet and writing, and I really don't feel like writing.

It's cold in here, even though the thermostat is set at 72 (don't tell anyone). I should put a blanket over myself to keep warm, but I would probably fall asleep with this unfinished. I don't like to leave unfinished work-- no matter how grueling or boring, or how poor the final outcome is. I transfer my boredom to the paper, the problem is that I gain it right back again when I reread what I had just written to try to keep on the same track throughout the article. My boredom is recycled, not only to my readers, but to myself. Sometimes it's hours between words. Many times I fall asleep in mid sentence: I just scrap the whole sentence most of the time, sometimes I just leave it in there incomplete. Funny, no one seems to notice.

If I were smart I would just put all "z’s” on the paper, any dream would have to be better than this! But I guess I won't. I am so persevering in my attempt to stay awake…

The page is starting to roll up and turn yellow from age. My eyelids keep slipping down and my eyes are getting dangerously dry for my contacts – my soft lens’ are slowly becoming hard. I no longer have full control over my saliva and my pen falls to the floor at least three times in every sentence. I’m not sure if it was sleep that I just wiped from my eye or if it was a shriveled up contact. I have only been writing during the faster songs for I fall asleep during anything halfway slow. Yawns are more frequent than words. Every breath is a yawn because I keep forgetting to breathe in-between. My pen feels weighted. The sentences are beginning to drop down off the right hand side of the page. I’m not sure if the light is flickering or if I’m blinking. I can’t seem to remember anymore if it’s Saturday night or Sunday morning.

I get up and get up and get ready for work, just in case it’s Monday morning, because – even if it isn’t – when I get to work and find out it’s not Monday I will be happy that I don’t have to be there and that I can go home and go to bed. And that will make me happy.

I like being happy.

Isn’t life great?

Aren’t I lucky to be a writer?

You are even luckier to be a reader!

You have the unique opportunity to read what I write, feel what I feel, sleep when I have to go to work…


                                                    Ploddingly Yours,

èim  Uhr




P.S. The problem is, I hate driving when I'm so tired,

        and it's so dark outside, and I'm having trouble seeing,

                  it almost seems as if I'm missing a contact, and ...

                  It's not usually dark outside at 11:00 in the morning!



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