Birak

I’m tired. 

 

The age-old feeling of being inadequate, incapable, that my sand is escaping down the doomsday hourglass without being put to any meaningful or worthwhile use..

Therefore translating my present life and its composites, as teflon-wrapped, ironclad, proof of said inferiority, because I have yet to blossom into a brand new, glamorous career, teeming with financial security, quarterly growth and parental pride..

 

Whatever it is that I AM spending my time doing..

As it is not visible to the outside world nor baring any immediate currency shaped fruit..

 

It is conclusive proof, 

that, 

I am,

 

A shithouse.

--

Time for a cigarette..

 

You know..

I sway between writing personal things like this, a summarised venting of built up internal dialogue that more often than not gestates a day or so in draft format before being blasted through the recycle bin, and writing something that has a moral purpose or metaphor infused with a life experience, a bit of biography embedded with a jewel, to give something to whomever has taken the time out of their day, to read..

 

However..

 

The venting is also helpful.

That's how this blog started, or, at least what it became, a procedure that extracted whatever topic or issue was causing me discomfort, stress or anxiety. A ritual of dissection, slowly down the tumble-dryer of spinning information and imaginative outcomes, an opportunity to pluck one topic at a time to be inspected, analysed and ultimately abandoned. 

I think a lot.

Sometimes I feel my brain is hard wired, to invest thought into vast, elaborate, intricate tapestries of imagined outcomes, the why's and why not’ of others choosing. I like to know how something has come to be, how behaviour is governed, patterns, root causes, ripple effects, however it is also a behavioral trait of mine that keeps me up at night and loses me an incalculable amount of sleep.. 

 

Writing is a way to deal with this. 

 

Once I write down whatever is bothering me, it tends to stay there. 

 

I don’t need to remind myself of anything, I don’t need to rerun the hypothetical possibilities of all these outcomes that have yet to be..

I don't even need to read what I have written..

 

It’s there.

Here.

 

I can leave it.