post slider

Tuesday, 22 March 2016

NEAT CHAOS AND PRECIOUS HEARTACHE


I used to imagine the appearance and scene of a writer at work, sat at a bold mahogany desk, coffee cups scattered around the room, with piles of paper slowly falling off one by one, you imagine their view from their window to be an awe inspiring city scape, with the rush and madness of passers by, or a tranquil country side painting. Writing isn't neat and tidy, it's infuriating and challenging, from moments of writers block, to typos and spelling errors, yet that how I and some others assume or envision it to be is a neat chaos, behind all the mess is a piece of art. I don't have a big fancy desk myself, no doubt many other writers don't, most days I'm half dressed or covered in a blanket with a coffee in hand sat with my macbook on my lap in a pile of unnecessary mess, clothes everywhere, trunks open, curtains draped with the blinds half shut and with the radio on full blast from the other room. When I know I need to get some writing down, I'll sit anywhere to get it over with or I won't get round to doing so. Then when I naturally get a splurge of ideas, there's me just jotting down unreadable notes onto my phone or sitting on the edge of my bed ready to fall as I draft a paragraph or two. Not very sophisticated but then I have zero awareness of anything when it comes to the frantic need of getting everything onto paper before it drifts away into oblivion. It's 16:38pm and I'm somewhere gazing out onto the murky moors of West Yorkshire, whilst my cousin Sophia gets all down and dirty doing my makeup properly, unlike myself. For the first time away from home, I don't feel anxious at all. Normally the dread and panic sets in as the sun sets, how will I sleep, what if I don't feel well, my mind would normally be filled with unnecessary assumptions and anticipating the worst of situations. Yet here I am miles away from home and I feel at ease. It's only when I'm far away from the bounds of my home town when hidden feelings start to resurface, realisations and the truth comes to light. It's unsettling when an old face pops up from the past, either physically out and about in the streets, or as just a simple message or notification on your phone. When someone means that much to you it's hard to ever forget them, regardless of how the relationship or friendship ended,  some people are so deeply infected into your blood, it's too late to cut them out. Something forever links you to them, most of the time it's us refusing to let go, others it's an i.d. card you take with you everywhere you go, it's part of your identity. No, it doesn't control or affect your life in a destructive way, unless you let it, it's more something you keep with you to tell the grandkids later in life, a precious heartache, a scar that'll always be there, a tale to eventually be told.

SHARE:

No comments

Post a Comment

Blogger Template Created by pipdig