Diary 01 | 30th July 2018
I'm standing on the tram platform, waiting for the one to Bury to appear, and I'm feeling all the things.
I don't really know what that means.
But that's ok, because a brain full of busy, bumping-into-each-other thoughts (about her boots, and my constant easy-to-be-distracted-ness, the bee outside the library I haven't photographed yet, my fear of losing ‘the’ ring, frustration over being a ‘useless’ writer, the inferiority complex I constantly battle as on online-sharer, the fact I'm boiling in this bloody jacket, worry over my somersault belly, the lines on my forehead I really want to botox, going food shopping, my at-self anger over never.being.any.better.at.creating) are hard to finger-pluck at, harder still to grasp, despite my thumb and forefinger always being at the ready, joined by the (grosses me out at the thought...irrational phobia be damned) swirls of delicate human-prints.
In the reflection that I stare into, upon the glass behind which the driver sits, my expression masks the erratic underneath, a slightly-curled-up-at-corners mouth topped by swooshed-over hair frames invisible crunching of neck, of shoulder.
I can't stop thinking about what I read earlier today. That, if you want to make something of your words (and work towards them supporting self), then you need to write them down every day.
I've failed at doing that for the past 5 years.
I would be kind and say "not ‘failed’, Tors. Don't say failed to yourself". But...I can't be bothered to come up with an alternative.
I think it's (said not-another-word-for-it failing) mostly because of obstacles I have put in my own way.
Scrap that. Full stop. I know it is.
Because, they're good excuses, wouldn't you say? Obstacles. And I've an endless supply of them tucked under rib, ready to fish out at a moment’s notice.
I don't have time.
I shouldn't give them time.
I've washing to do.
I can't just publish, I have to photograph, and record my words.
This week I need space.
And...it won't work, so why bother?
The air is thick. It smells like nature has been shut away for too long.