The weight of expectation is crushing. Yet nobody is saying a word. I’m not hearing voices, nor can I feel the penetrative gaze of a thousand beady eyes, all fixated on my very being; anticipating something magical and wondrous to emerge from these hesitant fingers.
But it’s there.
I stare at the screen, and while I know what to write, I can’t seem engage my brain efficiently enough to produce the right words. At least hieroglyphics made sense to somebody; this stuff? You’d need an Einstein wrapped up in an enigma, slathered with a healthy dose of ‘aha’ to work this shit out.
I keep going.
Prod, prod, prod; the sound of a confused finger or three striking my keyboard.
The shapes keep appearing.
Left to right, they march on; snaking their way across the virtual canvas until the laws of physics (virtualics??) deem it necessary to begin a new line. Maybe this time will be different? It probably won’t be. A procrastinator cannot blame his tools – which is a shame. If an inanimate object refuses to be a conduit for abuse, then what’s the point?
Alas, I continue.
Prod, prod; there’s less typing now.
Perhaps the last trickle of creative juice has finally escaped – and with this unsatisfactory conclusion of osmotic inevitabilities, I am forced to write really long words to make up for how stupid I feel.
Or am I being too hard on myself?Continue Reading