ARCHITECT OF MY OWN FEAR

It’s been another one of “those” weekends where, despite my very best efforts, every time I approach the keyboard to attempt to string a few words together, somehow they’ve just failed to come. We’re two years into the great blog experiment now but I seem to have plunged headlong into another brick wall of hopelessness and, even despite the fact that I unexpectedly had many hours of opportunity to go upstairs and play with my toys, whenever I actually parked myself at the desk, the fatigue and the confusion overwhelmed me and those things that I wanted to do, and also those that I really needed to do, just didn’t (or couldn’t) happen.

I must apologise to my good friend Rick to whom my reply is long overdue, and to my good friend Andy for not conjuring up the next paragraph in our epic word game adventure. For both of you, I really wanted the words to come, but so far they’re remaining hidden far beyond some distant horizon whilst babbling nonsense like this is all I can muster.

In both instances, of course, the foundations have been built and there are even a few ribs and struts of the superstructure in position but, having done that, it’s almost as if the builders have gone on strike and left the site only to jeer at me and taunt me as they stand at the gate, chucking their brick-bats as if trying to persuade me of my wordsworthlessness…

So, I continued to try and do that, or, when I hit a dead end, I would instead find myself spending precious moments building sentences made up of nonsense so that I ended up talking to myself about nothing in particular in TwitWorld and thereafter sensing the dark clouds of gloom gathering as I became increasingly aware that there was nobody out there who cared whether I Twitterated or not… and I came once more to my regular conclusion that, whilst such things are not pointless in themselves, my presence therein does seem to be.

Instead the empty hours dragged by. My occasional attempts at “banter” all turned to the silent ash of a settling cloud of dust and my sense of self-worth collapsed once more and my confidence, seldom built on the strongest of foundations, crumbled away again to nothing.

Strangely, I notice that it’s there again - the architecture analogy – as if the superstructure that holds things together has started to come crashing down and, as ever, I find that I can only blame the architect, and this time the architect seems to be myself.

It became one of “those” weekends, as I said. One where it was all I could do to drag myself out from under the blankets and face the awful light of day. One of those where the sheer pointlessness of everything I have ever failed to achieve was brought into sharp relief by the sense of skydiving towards eternity. One of those where all of the flavours seemed to turn into one of rotten fish and still the words wouldn’t come.

Fatigue is creeping up upon me and shutting down my thought processes, so I think that whilst I try and think of something new and possibly even mildly exciting to tell you about (you lucky people), I might just treat myself to a week off and let you enjoy a few days of “The Best of the Lesser Blogfordshire Alternative.” Basically, some of those bizarre and bonkers pieces I wrote during my month of exile back in July and which I haven’t shared with the big, wide and scary world before.

Still, they’ll be new to you, if not to me, so they’re probably worth a look even if they’re talking of things from long ago eras and periods of time like, er, last July when the summer was still full of promise and hope of brighter days to come and not just the soggy memory it seems to have become.

Don’t you just love how the syntax and tenses will have got scrambled once you’ll be having started tomorrow’s time travelling to the past…?

So I hope that you will have been finding something that was to have been enjoyed when you read what’s coming of the past next few days…

I’m sure that I’ll be here when you get back, and, in the meantime, I’ll be busily juggling with my words and tenses and trying to make some sense of it all with whatever building blocks come to hand… or maybe I won’t.

Sometimes it’s just so very hard to tell what you’re actually going to do until you’ve actually already done it. These paragraphs, after all, were going to be just a few words about explaining why I didn’t feel able to write anything today, but now they’ve turned into something a lot more substantial, albeit a something without much in the way of meaning…

I’m confused.

Maybe I’m a little bit scared, too… You know, frightened…

Perhaps I should have stayed under the duvet instead…?