WORDS FAIL ME

One or two of you have noticed that this blog has rather ground to a halt lately and I really couldn’t argue with you about that. It’s also likely to remain that way, too, at least for a while, given that the latest bout of depression, self-doubt and lack of inspiration does seem to be far more severe than at other times when things have threatened to cease.

My brain seems to be well and truly mashed and drained, and, given that my recent efforts at writing anything have turned out to be rather disappointing – so disappointing in fact, that I have so far refused to share them with anyone, let alone yourselves, dear reader – and I can’t currently see a time when successful daily word-wrangling is likely to resume.

Then there’s my current sense of “disappointment” with life – particularly weblife – at the moment anyway to deal with, because, well, you know how it can get what with all the judgmental twaddle and emphatic righteousness on display in a world that seems to be so much less aware of shades of grey than once it was.

That said, things are also terribly busy at the moment, what with the ongoing – and seemingly endless - saga of the selling on of my mother’s former home, and also a short trip to the Lake District which kept me away from keyboards for the duration, even though I did manage to send some relatively lovely pictures from t’teffalone to communicate in a minimalist way with the rest of the universe.

All very pretty – see photo attached – and relaxing… but it didn’t sort out my brain much.

The problem remains; My brain seems unable to think in a “bloggy” way at the moment. Every time I put my thoughts towards today’s posting, a great big swirling maelstrom of chaos whirls around inside my head and I can’t seem to  form it into some kind of order any more without it turning into something smug, or irritating, or – even worse - just downright boring.

In which case, it seems best not to try at all, at least until my mind calms itself down again.

Mentally, I can tell things are not really, really going well.

Case in point: Last week, as I drove up the M6 towards Keswick, I had Radio 2 on in the car, which is seldom a good sign, and I was listening to their “all-request” show and some member of the Great British Public chose to request a “Genesis” track – “I can’t dance…” – which then lodged itself so firmly inside my brain that I decided that I must rather like it and ended up ordering myself a “Genesis Greatest Hits” compilation for no very good reason other than I once owned “Invisible Touch” on vinyl and persuaded myself that I still “quite liked” some of their stuff on some level.

Now this, you need to understand, comes after more than a quarter of a century of finding Phil Collins and his performing career truly, truly irksome, and sometimes I have been known to admit to this dislike in a very, very public way.

For example, I often describe his own Greatest Hits Collection – “Hits” – as the greatest and most truthful anagram in record titling history, and “One More Night” is often crooned with the title tweaked to be “My Bald Patch…” and as for that bloody “homeless” dirge he created at the height of his multi-millionaire rock star lifestyle…

(Sigh!) Words, it seems, do fail me.

But I digress.

Anyhoo, despite all of that venom and bile, and spleen-venting, now, however, I find myself “eagerly anticipating” the arrival of my “Genesis” compilation which I shall probably play in the car during the commuter run, find surprisingly enjoyable, add to the CD pile, and then forget all about for several years having allowed another of my occasional “Prog Rock” revisiting phases to fade.

So, after that alarming diversion from everything that is sane and reasonable,  here we find ourselves, poised on “the horns of a Dalai-lama” as I imagine nobody has ever actually said.

Do I go back and do that “publish and be damned” thing on all of those wretched, godawful (and barely bloody readable) pieces that I failed to share with you when I was in the depths of my despair and fug last week? Or should I draw a line under the whole business and hurtle blindly onwards with more mindless nonsense which will only leave me feeling a whole lot worse about, well, pretty much everything really?

There’s much to ponder upon, obviously.

No doubt I’ll be back. (Problee…)