I might think I’m a writer, but at times life and the wonders and challenges of it prioritise my time to such a degree, that I can’t be arsed to write.

Its been like that since early 2017. Sure I’ve written stuff elsewhere, but my website here has not seen the light of day, or enjoyed the weakest thought from my head. It’s not that I don’t know what to write about. Crikey, I have views on many things and could, given half a chance, put the world to right.

But hey, I’m a realist. As much as I like to think it, I am not always right and besides, I know the human population on this planet is diverse and complicated. Me too!

Instead, I’ve been out and about. For me the wonders of nature and being out in the fresh air beats being indoors. One could argue it is all good stuff to write about, the things one sees when watching others and the beauty of the landscape.

I agree, but when one can’t be arsed because there is more to life than writing something that no bugger wants to read has, for me, more than a little meaning.

As we enter August 2017, I’m still of the same mind. It’s not writer’s block, depression of laziness. It’s more about balancing what is important for me at this moment of time. In the past I’ve spend weeks writing, editing and re-editing and for what? Just to get my view on something into cyber space, in the vague hope some irk will see it, like it or comment on it.

Yet that is not why I write. If it was and if I was a needy sod, every hour of my day would be spent churning out nonsense in the hope it made sense to someone. As it is, every hour of my day is spent doing other things, equally meaningful to the words I may or may not have written in the mean time. Along the way, maybe my presence, or some small thing I have done, will have made a difference to another person. Whether it made sense to them is a different matter!

So, in writing this it seems I’m back to writing. Can’t say it will last because it is still summer and the great outdoors calls, as do the chores and commands of the house and the high maintenance of my other half, his Nibs.

But that’s another story. Life it seems is more complicated that we pretend it isn’t. Argh!


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