DEAD BLOG

Or is it, as suggested in the case of that most notorious Norwegian Blue parrot, merely "resting"…?

Or not, obviously.

It's so hard for me to tell at the moment with the small things of life being in such a state of flux. After all, August will mean a massive leap into the unknown for a chum of mine who is emigrating to a place nearly half a world away along with his entire family and that is, of course, far more entertaining than anything else I could find to talk to you about.

Or not, obviously.

All that I have planned, amidst the usual drudgery, is that I suddenly have an unexpected "event" to attend one day in a couple of weeks which might prove interesting enough to share, but equally, at the time of writing, might turn out not to be.

And so we drift lazily towards the end of July, a month in which this blog, to all intents and purposes, "ceased to be…"

Towards the end of June, things got very difficult inside my head, and I found myself in a very dark place, and sitting here, writing endlessly dreary prose about nothing in particular, suddenly seemed like the most pointless thing in the world, especially as we lurked upon the very brink of July, a month during which a paradigm shift in my own position in life was due to occur whether I liked it or not, and I had a couple of short breaks already booked which would inevitably drag me away from the keyboard anyway.

The relaxation that those breaks themselves managed to create in me finally showed me quite how unwell I had become in recent months, what with all of the angst and the woe, and the simply not taking the time to have a proper rest and recuperate from all of the traumas of last year. Sometimes it's only when you sit up and realise just how peculiar you'd become that you get to see the causes of that peculiarity for what they are and realise that you can actually do something about them.

Or not, obviously.

Meanwhile, my endless daily wittering on and on about nothing in particular had become little more than a stick to beat myself with, coupled with a strangely obsessive need to just keep on doing it because I already was, if that doesn't sound too peculiar…? Sometimes the realisation that I had nothing to say still wouldn't prevent me from really needing to say it anyway, and that can lead to a whole load of old nonsense and a certain amount of bitterness and disappointment all around.

Or not, obviously.

Meanwhile, the clock has continued to turn and I have slipped almost unnoticed into my sixth decade which, in and of itself, doesn't feel all that different to the last one, if truth be told. It's not the numbers that bother me (or, as a wise old adventurer once said "It's not the years, it's the mileage…") but the realisation of all that time wasted, and all of those things not done, regrets not addressed, and, perhaps, how little time may remain in which to deal with any of them.

The clock is ticking… and I've rarely heard those clicks so clearly.

So, this remains a period in which to reflect and consider and wonder about the mysteries of life, and, as to whether this will remain a "dead blog" or whether I choose to keep on churning out those strange observations and reflections from time-to-time remains to be seen.

Or not, obviously.

Time will tell, as they say.

It usually does.

But just in which manner I choose to waste what's left of mine - whether hereabouts or otherwhere - might yet prove interesting.

Or not, obviously…