When in doubt....

It's that time of the evening again. The time just before sunset and the time when I don't know what to do with myself. I've walked the dog and had my dinner and read my emails, so there's nothing left for me to do but write a post. Oh sure, I hear you, I could sit down and make a drawing, but I am absolutely not inspired right now. I have no picture in my head that I want to put down on paper. The only things that remain are words and you can read some of them here.

Sometimes words are the easiest things to come by when all else fails. When I can't draw or paint or clean house or water the plants or make my bed or do the laundry, I can always write. It takes the least amount of effort and is as easy as breathing or drinking coffee and smoking my cigarettes. It comes as easy as that and I never get bored with it, and why should I? In how many places do you get to sit down and write about the things that interest you and that revolve around you? It's like I'm constantly writing my autobiography without an editor to correct me.

Of course, there's writer's block and the moment you say you don't suffer from it, you have it and don't know what to write about. That's when you have to put your mind on the middle distance gazing view and let it take over your command of the keyboard. You will notice that very rapidly the words come rolling out of your head without you consciously having to think about them, and that they find their way to the screen effortlessly. You wouldn't believe the amount of monologue you can produce this way, unhindered as you are by a responding typist.

Yes, the moment blogging was invented was a great moment for people like me who like to ramble on about nothing in particular at all and about everything under the sun in general. There is no subject that I will not discuss, but the subjects that I do discuss are always those that are closest to my heart, without giving away too much of myself and disclosing everything I am about and my deepest, darkest secrets. I pick and choose through the skeletons in my closet and choose the fleshiest ones that do not rattle too much and don't tell too horrid a tale.

Of course, everybody thinks that a blog is like a confessional and that you need to tell all and keep no secrets from your loyal readers, and in a a way that is true and very often I give in to this notion and share my daily haps and mishaps and my general embarrassments as if I know no shame and I have no privacy to consider. I want to share freely and give you a decent idea what it is like to be me in this world I inhabit, but lately I have become a little bit more weary and more sparse with my announcements and I speak in riddles more than I ever used to. I purposely do that and I am like an animal circling the watering hole, watching for crocodiles to snatch it into the dark water.

I guess I want to add an element of mystery to my, up until recently, very public life. Then again, this whole monologue could be an exercise in creative writing and tomorrow I will return to my usual normal, cheerful self without any misgivings at all. It all depends on how true to the core I'm writing now and how close these thoughts are to what I actually feel, or if they are pulled out so deep from my subconscious, that they will seem alien to me in the morning and I will distance myself from them completely. It is very possible that there are two people sitting here behind this computer, one being the creative writer who dramatizes the thoughts into words and sentences, and the other being me who allows it to happen.

There, now I've completely confused you, which is not a bad thing to do, because it makes you think and that makes you not accept everything so easily and complacently.

With those words I'll leave you and say goodnight to you and go turn on the television for a while.

Ciao,
Nora