A Change In The Weather
Winter is here. The wind claws at my skin; its breath chills me and throws a cold, hard rain in my face. My hands begin to numb. I curse my stupid dislike of gloves. The bag handles bite into my fingers.
The change in the weather came suddenly, unexpectedly – one day there was sunlight and warmth; the next, grey clouds and biting wind. The same can be said for my workload. Feast or famine. Summer or winter. Rarely is there a steady period of lazy picnics on mild afternoons.
As some of you have guessed, things at Maison ScrawlBug have been a little… hectic of late. I don’t often talk about The Great Beast¹ in my posts, preferring to concentrate on other subjects, but for the past two months that Beast has been gnawing at my meaty bits. So much so that I’m surprised there’s much of me left. Explanations are in order.
Firstly, ScrawlBug is not on a one-way trip to Boot Hill. Yes, posts have been erratic. I’ve perhaps been less inspired, fumbling around for things to say, boring, demented (nothing new there) and generally off-form. It’s hard to say, since I’m inside my head and can’t give you a visitor’s impression. A guided tour, perhaps? On your left, the thalamus; keep together and we’ll make our way to the frontal lobe. Please mind the gap.
Secondly, the Earnings Blog is also still breathing, albeit with the aid of life support. Its host is unwell and, given the beautifully poetic nature of the site’s symbiotic relationship with said host, I’ve not been able to get it out of Internet Hospital long enough for an update. This, too, will pass.
Thirdly, a period of inanimate revolution has befallen the household. VHS cassettes are angrily chewed and spat onto the carpet; the DVD player shouts “No Disc” and laughs in my face; the toaster and kettle are plotting a coup d’état in the kitchen; even my oldest ally – the computer – has been recruited, BSODding me into a state of despair.
And finally, The Great Beast has been hungry these past weeks. It has eaten my time, energy and motivation – not to mention several packets of chocolate biscuits². It has left a sticky snail’s trail of stress, pressure, depression and pain which has glued my virtual shoes in place and slowed progress. Walking barefoot through slime is not the most pleasant experience, even for other snails.
However, much like the British weather changing in the blinking of an eye, it appears things are looking up.
Silent clients begin communicating. Work begins to flow a little thicker. New possibilities and jobs appear on the horizon, be they mirage or not. Ideas crawl out of the dark recesses of my brain. There are more chocolate biscuits in the cupboard.
That cold, winter wind may be bad for the complexion, but it’s blowing away many of the dark, troublesome clouds and – although it’s only weak – a wintery sun can show its face at last.
It may even have a hat on.
¹ That’s Real Life, for the uninitiated.
² OK, so that was a lie – I ate the biscuits.
Don’t let the beast get you down. Find out a new project. Do a blog redesign (that’s what I used to do, probably not too smart but funny and my blog is my playground, but maybe it is a designer thing) NaNoWriMo (or whatever it’s called) writing marathon, read some Steve Jobs quotes (they really worked for me today, can find them on szamaya.posterous.com) go to a weekend in Barcelona. I remember how is it. The worst was last year that after a Crazy English Summer I had to go through a Really Hard Hungarian Winter. This year is not too bad. I had six months full sunshine. But a solar battery weekend can do the trick to make winter bearable.
Ah yes, the beast. My beast is telling me (for real) “why are all your projects strewn around the house (like they’re industrial waste)? Because, I answer, “you have the biggest office even though I have more work (interests, projects)”! Is that a good excuse to expand my debris? Works for me.
A good dose of word-to-word resuscitation is in order. Or else go organize a file while eating a chocolate biscuit. Cheers,
JR Nuerge
I had a good day. Then, when I got home, for no particular Forrest Gump reason at all, I felt pensive. In vain (or idle) attempt to distract, I ate, slumped and draped across furniture with Roman senate-like repleteness while dextrously scrolling my phone’s most recently kidnapped bookmarks. I came to even greater rest on one of my favourite social media luminary’s blog posts. It was a tale of round pegs not needing to be hammered into round holes. One sentence agilely leapt into my pitiful sloth: advertising is the tax we pay for being unremarkable.
Neurological pathways between the word advertising and the distant pillar across the other side of my clouded brain – adorned with a slightly, yet appealingly, skewed Scrawlbug mirrored sign reflecting delightful and relevant polar antithesis – lit up my melancholy like a Blackpool tramway. Sparking intermittently until the contact yielded a grounded connection twixt the journey from Autumnal gloom to neon (if not natural) illumination: Spike!
Further crackling static emitted until I settled here for therapeutic, medicinal and controlled Spikehood substance intoxication. Job done.
Lest I confuse and amuse thee in equal unintelligibleness here’s the skinny: I think we produce our best wordsmithing when we ache the most. MHO? Empathy extended for how it must have and may still feel offline Spike but damn, if that’s the tax you’re paying, we are profiting from your bottom line. Beautifully crafted post my friend.
So, uh, Michael, tell us, what’s with the electricity? Glad you reminded me, thanks. Yeah.
Fields of influence 1 Inanimate objects 0.
As we transition from one state of being to another, moving mindsets, letting go of our perception of what we think we are into who we are becoming, we create a different, often higher vibratory pattern of energy. Positive thoughts or aspiring intention – desire to grow personally and professionally – replaces the eddying swirl of useless negativity thus giving rise to a disturbance in our force [insert Vader breathing here]. That force acts upon its environs and component electrons. Particles become waves and waves become particles. Physicists have been known to disturb sub-atomic level test results just by walking into the lab. In other words, it pisses about with yer white goods.
Engineering to Bridge: Cap’n we’ve found a fix. Guys, clench right fist and thump middle of chest. Or, snap fingers of right hand. You’ll look a total twazzock and everyone will think you are (or I am) a weirdo. That’s okay. Celebrate twazzock uniqueness as a statement of rebellion (I am not a number) and embrace being a weirdo, don’t knock what you’ve never tried, but at least you will be sans static and less likely to be assaulted by low-flying VHS projectiles or captive to Nexus Blade Runner-esque replicant toasters. Ladies, lead with the left hook, or a snap of the left fingers (right brain/left brain feminine/masculine, yin/yang kinda beat). Trust me on this. Y’all notice there’s more dust in your house? Not just down to being chained to your swivelchairs bloggin’ with no time for your domestic goddess impressions? Frequencies are on the up. Magnetic poles are shifting (some assert link to solar cycles). Earth measurements reveal Mama Nature is raising her vibe and so are we.
So, like, take it as a slightly, yet appealingly skewed sign the inclement conditions outside correlate with the inclement conditions about thy abode and thine physical self, symbolising the change from the dearly beloved Spike of yesteryear, through simply an uncomfortable chrysalis-like phase of late, into the new and improved Spike of tomorrow. What wonder awaits us….
Cor struth I dig your writing, Cobber! It’s bulk ace in the extreme.
I feel a tad bad posting that link to the Morgan horse blog on your last post. Photos dripping with antipodean sunshine are probably not what you crave just now.
Many thanks for this literal snapshot of your literary life. Jolly interesting stuff. Best regards, P.
Sometimes the beast wins. But those are only battles, not the war.
We all have those days/weeks/months (I’d offer a pic of my apt as exhibit A, but am too ashamed). You’ll ride it out and fight a way to use it. Perhaps in future blog posts or a story.
You’re such a talented writer. Please keep posting. More.
Szabi: A weekend in Barcelona? Oh, if only I had the money (though it’d be elsewhere, probably)! I’ll have to settle for looking at pictures online.
JR: “Word-to-word resuscitation” has to be the best phrase I’ve heard in ages. Since my PC has hated me for several days now, I’ve been reading (The Crucible, The Best Awful and now Gulliver’s Travels of all things!) and I think you just described the effect. Brilliant!
Michael: Blimey, guv. Now that was a bit of weird, abstract thought that was mind-bendingly interesting and made me smile into the bargain. If I understood it correctly, I’m supposed to be a furry caterpillar and, tomorrow, a wrinkly one!! “I think we produce our best wordsmithing when we ache the most” is something I run into frequently – mostly among Goths (or should I now pretend I call them “Emo” to be trendy?) trying to write poetry and the people who visit psychoanalysts. The most creative are frequently the most tortured (also see this).
Paul: Photos of equines (though I am not particularly a fan) doused with liberal sunshine are – to the contrary – precisely what I needed. Sunshine, nature, grass and horse manure. What better cure is there for the blues? (That’s a rhetorical question, by the way!!)
Simone: Your visits always brighten my days. As for the apartment, I’m sure you could claim that it’s an ingenious trap for the Monster In The Closet – you know, Tom And Jerry style shenanigans resulting in his (or her) expulsion by the nearest window!! Thanks for the encouragement.