There’s always tomorrow – Or is there?

photo credit: Yulia Khlebnikova, unsplash

I enjoy writing. Not all writing – shopping lists are a bit of a bore, but in my case essential, otherwise I come home with all the things – like fabric softener – that I might possibly need over the next year, but with no bread or milk. And – perish the thought, I might forget teabags!

Being the deserving recipient of a Government pension I don’t have to make my living through my keyboard. Please pass over the second half of this previous sentence without judgement.

This Government pension allows me to write what I want when I want, and that is a luxury I do appreciate. The odd bits and bobs that I do write, like for instance, this Wisdom have a long window of achievement, so I can sit down and do them pretty much when I feel like it.

There is only one written thing that needs doing punctually, and that is my Facebook post. That has to go out every Sunday morning. But it’s not onerous, it’s about something that has happened to me during the week, not a thesis on the Meaning of Life. It’s more like the particular sound that a jar of jam makes when dropped on the supermarket floor.

If you don’t know what sound a jar of jam makes when dropped on the supermarket floor I advise you to try it – it makes a deeply satisfying squaltch with a hint of tinkle in it.

But if I have to write something by a particular date and I find that Muse and Inspiration have gone out to lunch together I sit down anyway, have a think, and if nothing is forthcoming then I open up something that I have written before.

That gets me into Jos Mode. Usually that will bring back Muse, worried that she might be upstaged. She will have left Inspiration behind; he will come hurrying along later, rather put out by being left stuck with the bill.

And so I am in business. Something is on the page. That’s the important bit. After all, if I find that what I wrote yesterday is absolute rubbish then I can call Delete into service and write something else.

But the important thing is Get Something On The Page! It’s even more important than dropping jam.

1 Comment

  1. I don’t know about the sound of a pot of jam on the supermarket floor, but the other day I was privileged to hear the sound of two beer bottles drop and smash. All my own work. I was reaching down two other bottles and must have nudged the two that fell.

    They do make a very satisfying sound.

    The fountain of beer up one’s trouser leg is perhaps less satisfying. As is the miasma of beer that follows one around after the event.

    I stood very still, after the bottle-drop, and waited for the shop staff to find me. I don’t think I even considered doing a runner. Instead I found myself calculating the price of the bottles I’d shattered and whether I could afford to pay for them as well as the two I actually wanted to buy. But for some reason I couldn’t do the arithmetic. My mind kept getting stuck on trying to double the price per bottle as advertised. The shock seemed to have brought on an attack of dyscalculia.

    In the event, the shop assistant who found me was more concerned to hear whether I’d cut myself. (I hadn’t.) And told me not to worry and that he’d clean up. Which I thought very decent of him. I took myself off to the cashier who didn’t charge me for the breakage either. Outside, I realised I couldn’t take the bus home as I’d planned – not while stinking like a brewery. So I walked.

    The following morning I had to wash both my trousers and my winter coat.

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