SMALL DISAPPOINTMENTS, EMPTY VESSELS & THE END OF THE WORLD

Uh-oh! Did you see what happened there? Didn’t think so (Where were you?). I skipped a day. That’s right, I skipped a day. No blog. Nothing. Nada. So, did the world end? Did empires topple? Not a chance, not a dickie bird. The machinery of the universe kept on ticking despite the fact that I had nothing to feed it for a while. The world failed to stop turning and didn’t spin off its axis. It just carried on, dancing its merry daily dance with the moon, spinning inexorably around the sun. On some level, I’ll admit to being quite disappointed, but then that’s my curse to bear. Still, do you think I feel that I can relax now? Not a bit of it.

So, what do you think I did with all this new-found freedom from the shackles of bloggery? Well, obviously I spent much of it fretting over the fact that I hadn’t written anything and, such is the nature of any addiction that I was feeling quite guilty about it for a while, but also felt that something vital was missing from my day. Then I worried about you, loyal reader. Had I finally driven the last remnants of you away? I know some of my recent warblings haven’t interested anybody at all, but the drip-drip of disappointments that I’m inflicting upon you must etch away at your resilience eventually. I also worried about Lesser Blogfordshire itself. Had I perhaps mortally wounded the place with my endless meaningless prattling? Worse still, did nobody even notice that I wasn’t here? I get that a lot (“Have you heard, among this clan…?”). I think I must have a very isolated personality. I spent so many years not letting people in, that now they don’t want to. Maybe blogging is a manifestation of some inner raging against that…? It’s an aberration, it’s going against the grain. However, I do know enough about market forces to know that if I cut off the supply then you’ll find other outlets, but then the ever-so-static day the numbers had yesterday kind of proved it and I found that it felt uncomfortable. It felt unsettling somehow to the rhythm of my day.

The strange thing is that mornings do roll around when I can honestly say that I genuinely cannot think of a thing to write about. There’s nothing. Not a thought. Not a sausage (Mmmm… Sausages…). The well remains dry, the cupboard bare. Actually (and you just knew I was going there, didn’t you…?) that’s never strictly true, because there’s never really nothing to say. Something always pops into mind. Everyone’s brain is a seething volcano of thoughts and ideas all the time. Even when someone asks what we’re thinking about and we reply with a nondescript “Nothing” the brain is just pumping out thoughts and notions. It’s just that they might not be very interesting to share with anyone else. “Seinfeld” was famously described as being “a show about nothing” but finding me just sitting here, wittering on about nothing – or writing nothing at all – would obviously be a less successful line to take. Now I know that we live in a society where people feel the need to spout off about all and sundry, and they will rattle on at full volume about the most pointless and trivial things that are going on in their miserable (sounding) little lives as if the rest of us really gave a toss - never before have so many empty vessels been making so much noise - but I think you deserve better than that.

Wednesday mostly turned out to be a day of small disappointments. It was “Day 74” (in “Big Brother” parlance) of my mother’s epic hospital experience and there was still no sign of her being able to go home. I got pretty down about that towards the end of the afternoon which led to me being not much fun to be around. That normally wouldn’t have been a problem as I was supposed to be alone for a few hours anyway, but then circumstances suddenly changed and I was unexpectedly not alone. Sadly the black dog had already bitten by then and I was unpleasant to the one person that I really shouldn’t do that to. Happily I was able to turn round the supertanker of gloom in time to be in slightly brighter spirits for my latest hospital visit otherwise that might have proved to have been a less than pleasant experience too.

I did spend some useful time before starting work in the morning composing the beginnings of a long overdue email to a very good friend of mine which is of course just like blogging only less open to the world, but even that failed to get finished when my schedule was rearranged. I returned home feeling brighter only to just get the end of a long telephone conversation my beloved was having with one of my college friends who I’ve managed to keep in touch with despite being me. Sadly, they have been unwell for many years and the opportunities to talk are very rare due to fatigue issues and the call was already flagging when I took up the reins. There was barely time for a swift “hello/goodbye” and to get news of another aging parent in another faraway hospital. Everyone, it sometimes seems, is having much the same problem.

Ah, you see? I’ve got it so bad… I’ve dragged myself back into Lesser Blogfordshire despite not having much to say mostly out of a sense of habit, or order, or routine more than anything else this morning.

For me at least (I can’t speak for the rest of you), it’s nice to be back. Didn’t really manage “pithy” though…