Friday 12 May 2017

#193 Stationary

I needed a place to sit. To eat lunch or contemplate. The riverside was an obvious choice but metal railings hid the view.

I made my way to Cabot Square, plonked my ass down on the marble floor and sat facing the fountain and the iconic tower behind it. Mist danced around the pyramid at the building's peak, like snow blown off a mountain.

I wouldn't have done that last year, or the year before. A person can forget how to just sit. If they ever knew.

I used to be so impatient I could barely watch a film. To sit there for that long with no other stimulation. For Star Wars I just about managed it. x2 speed on Youtube felt frustratingly slow. Bedtime felt unreasonably early. Everything felt unreasonable.

It was that sense of stillness I'd missed. Some people got it as they were drifting off before napping. I rarely napped. Even before blue light came along. The few times I'd daytime-slept, I woke up groggy. Like I'd eaten chalk.

I'd stopped taking the time to listen to music. To discover it. It became... the lemonade top. Familiar tunes from the past, sometimes added as an afterthought to whatever stream of videos I was watching. Why would anyone do that to music? Or lager?

I needed to get into music again. It was therapeutic, unlike binge-watching series or Youtube. Maybe I could check out some of fellow blogger Cath's tunes. She incorporated one into every blog post. Over a hundred in 2017 so far. It was a lot of music.

Cath also piled on the pictures, taking heaps of photos herself. Most bloggers used stock sites. I hated those places. Row upon row of smart, low-cost images. If they were any more soulless, the sites would have to open a cafe selling cheap Swedish meatballs, just so visitors would have something to rave about.

I could draw more pictures. Another way to externalise thoughts on top of writing. I wished I had the time and talent to illustrate the blog. The best example I'd seen was ThunderPuff. I couldn't compete with that. The self-doubt maybe, not the drawing.

Should I go draw some pictures? Or should I stay sat there? Waiting for the thoughts to blow over. In case they ever would. My body would tell me when to get up again. It'd rise of its own accord and walk home. Thinking of dinner. A worthwhile change of focus. Meat and mash crept into my brain. It was time to leave.


Running on empty said...

Thanks Dan!

Yours is a different style but I'm envious because you're not as lazy a writer as me! It's harder to write than look for a tune!

Kathy said...

You both are too self deprecating....each one adds to the sum total...neither one less than the other...

Profound Familiarity said...