writing for the soothing of my mind

today, the day is dark. and gloomy. it’s raining with temperatures feeling indeed chilly to the bone. i was quivering taking my afternoon walk. i’m typing away to dull the pain of non productivity.

i want to be useful. i want to put light into the eyes of others. i want to make other people feel useful. what if i didn’t go back on the keyboard? didn’t use the backspace key? that is what i will do. i’ve closed my eyes. and just typing away.

without even thinking what may come of the words that are sprawling out. that can all come later. right now i’m regurgitating everything that is within me. i’m not even being careful about spelling. grammar for that matter. although everything is kind of second nature for me. there i did it again pressed the backspace key i m not doing that i’m not even putting periods my work can get sloppy i’m closing my eyes as i type away on the keyboard

but who am i? where am i going? no punctuation marks. i’m going to look up who knows when from my head-down position

to look at the screen and figure out what i’ve written. what i’ve produced.

i’m a wanderer with no clear destination. going across the path of life. i don’t care what may happen to me five years down the road. i don’t know what will be happen five minutes from now.

it’s just me and the keyboard. this is me against the world.

who is for me? everyone imaginable, as long as i’m producing. or am i putting myself under the illusion that i’m creating and doing work. when in actuality i’m doing nothing but maybe typing away some meaningless words, that don’t quite make sense. my brain doesn’t make sense. i’ve lost a sense of purpose, a sense of direction.

who do i want to be, going back to my childhood.

and now my left arm begins to hurt. it’s aching because of the constant typing. but i have a choice. i can choose now to stop. i can choose to quit.

i don’t have the courage to. therein lies the problem, i don’t have the courage to face my problems straight on.

there’s the problem. i can be clumsy i can make mistakes. i have to get better at failing. but a side of me continues to whisper. you cannot afford to fail. why am i feeding such bulls*it to my self.

it’s funny thing. i’m not offended when i see cuss words on screen. but to actually use the cuss words myself, now that’s a different story. i can’t bring myself to do so. now i can think them. i can say them.

but putting them down on paper - now that’s a whole different story. or putting them down on screen gets me scared. this space is virtually permanent, eternally ingrained into a hard disk somewhere. it will constantly keep floating around. it may come back later to haunt me.

i’ve achieved so much. another lie that i feed myself. i’ve achieved maybe nothing. because all i’ve done, much of what i’ve done is just for myself. no giving back. no paying forward.

and it’s a funny thing, life is a funny thing. but what can i say?