I should be working this morning.
Instead, I am seeking every excuse I can to avoid such dire undertakings.
It seems lately that something is mentally blocking me from doing anything constructive.
Maybe it’s coronavirus fatigue. I don’t know how you determine if there is such a thing, or if it is merely the current fashionable excuse people are using to explain away their lack of interest in being productive.
It could very well be the monotonous task I have for work (confirming specific details about environmental analytical methods and entering said details into a very dry spreadsheet with little actual interpretation — just lookup, hope I can find information, confirm, enter in values, correct current entry name if needed, etc.). It’s not glamourous work right now, but it is work — something that has been lacking for me of late.
What I’d rather do?
Of likely no surprise to anyone — read news or write.
Well, maybe the news review is a bit surprising. But, there’s nothing much there than gets the old juices flowing. Turds are being turds, people harping about a particularly rich fantasy they call “personal responsibility” (goddess, I laugh at that one, especially when coming from gun-toting white power fanbois who think it is somehow an infringement on their rights when someone else wears a mask, let alone when asked to wear one), vaccines that are being hyped in spite of not being independently confirmed and that are in the early stages of a final stage of safety and effectiveness study (whoops! mr. scientist is emerging, better shove him back), and (I am sure) the Kardashians doing what they do and everyone being enthralled with whatever it is that they do — and pretend what they do shouldn’t make you question just why you idolize them.
So that leaves writing, which I am doing instead of lookup/find/confirm/enter/correct.
Several things, and then I probably should return to being dreary old boring Michael Raven instead of merely annoying old boring Michael Raven.
I mentioned before that I used to write a lots of poetry “back in the day” that explored erotic and romantic themes. If you noticed, the past few weeks I’ve returned to experimenting with those themes here and there. I’m somewhat still intrigued with the idea, so I plan to continue. Because I know that is not everyone’s cup of tea, I’ll be tagging them with a yet-to-be-decided category and/or tag that calls them out so you can skip away. In case you were wondering, that was the main goal of the Crush post on Friday — I was looking for muses along these veins, something I probably should have pointed out when I made that post. I find writing about the unrequitable/unattainable adds more zest than writing about reality. It’s the troubadour archetype forcing himself forward in my psyche.
I’ll take suggestions for tags/categories, if you have them.
Also, while I don’t think it was anywhere close to some of my better writing last night, I am still strongly intrigued with experimenting along the lines of A Clockwork Orange‘s nadsat. Not necessarily as an argot, but as a way of straining language to develop a new sense of meaning. I haven’t fully developed my thinking on this, but I have increasingly been frustrated by the lack of words that feel like what I’m getting at. Sure, there are tons of words out there, but the more complex ones that capture the essence are not easily dismissed as being egg-heady words; whereas, taking more words that sound like they might be familiar, but are obvious constructions, allows someone to move past the need to look up a word they are unfamiliar with for comprehension.
Make sense? Probably not.
Anyway, I will apologize in advance for experimenting along these lines. If I should tag them in the same manner as I do the more troubadour-ish work, shoot me ideas and don’t be afraid to say something about it being stupid. It won’t stop me from doing these horrible things to poor little words, but I value different thoughts on the matter.
Welp — back to the grindstone.