I’ve had an idea today. It’s a big one. The kind I need to diagram before I start writing it.
These don’t come along very often.
Unfortunately, I’ve no idea when I’m going to get the chance to work on it in the coming weeks. The multiple day jobs are defined by their deadlines and these must take priority, but it’s the kind of idea burning a hole in my head, wanting to get out.
I’ve just spent about an hour writing an introduction and the basic structure before I forget it, but I’m all too aware that this is an egg laid that I won’t have time to sit on.
Still full of writing energy, i feel like committing a memory to the blog so that I might be freed from it and allowed to sleep. I can’t cope with another week of nodding off at my desk. My mental health is not robust enough at the moment to cope with work on a lack of sleep.
And yet, I’m kept awake thinking about the height of last year’s summer.
My girlfriend had moved down to London from Manchester so that we could be together after a very difficult year apart. She moved into a run-down flat in a big Victorian terrace house in Dulwich. The ceilings were high and the furniture spoke every time you touched it. I was finishing my Masters dissertation and I did nothing but write all day, every day.
At the time, I was driven by the looming deadline but, in hindsight, that summer was bliss. Wanting an excuse to keep writing all the time is why this blog exists.
I’m sorry to say that life is finally starting to get in the way.
I’m nonetheless aware every time I say this, I trigger a spate of productivity. Here’s hoping I eat my words again and miraculously find the time to cough up new ones.
Proper ones. Substantial ones. Not 20-minute missives fired off into the night. Here’s hoping I can find the time to read and ruminate.
Right now, though, that’s my writing itch scratched.