I don’t really know what to write tonight. Usually, there is a thread from the day that pops out to me when I sit down to write this blog; it’s a thought that is interesting to me and easy to get down on the page. Today had some interesting moments, but nothing that wants to jump out as the one to focus on here.
No matter, I’ve dealt with this before. Some days, the words really don’t come. They do not pour effortlessly from my fingers, it is a fight for every single world. Usually, on those days, I dig into the fight. If I got myself to actually sit down and write, gosh darn, I’m going to get something down. Anything. I’ve committed, and I need something to show for it.
Usually, on those days, I go for a sort of stream-of-consciousness sort of writing. I write whatever thoughts do come into my head, because there is great value in writing those down. The thoughts that flit through my head on a regular day are mine and mine alone, and there is an aware-of-my-mortality and also vain part of myself that wants those to not be completely lost when I do die. There will never be another person exactly like me again. How miraculous it is that I even exist at all; I want all sorts of evidence left behind to mark the fact.
The way I think and the things I think, the clothes I like and the things I buy, there are all sorts of pieces of me that will be left behind. Pictures and memories, too. Letters I’ve written and received, journals I’ve filled. A lot of my words. Many, many words I’ve written over the years. Really bad stories and some that almost approach good. Many journals filled to the brim after years of hoarding those same journals. School assignments and over a decades worth of essays. This blog, and a few abandoned attempts from across the years, too.
Starting to write whatever words come to mind nearly always leads me somewhere interesting. Today, it reminds me of my consciousness, of the wonderful fact that I am alive.