Filling in blanks

In between eating, sleeping, and making dough.

Photo by Nik on Unsplash

Let’s write something (Let’s? Who else is here? Why do I address myself as another body to persuade, to cajole, and to get along?) I am writing and this is the moment. I didn’t plan this moment. I didn’t think it would come. I didn’t wait for it. But it is here. It appears beautiful how my fingers press on the glowing keys and the letters stream on the white screen. It is nothing new, yet every time I have spent time doing it, it has felt like the most gratifying thing to do. I am laying in bed, as usual, well fed, well quenched, well cleaned, well clothed, and well comforted. Comfort is what I seek the most, most of the times. It has been my guiding beacon, my north star. Even in a life as secluded and dormant as mine I am frequently faced with choices (human existence is an endless series of forks in the road) and I gravitate towards those circumstances which are comfortable; and anytime I have let another consideration weigh over it, I have suffered immensely. I constantly beat myself over such decisions. But sometimes it just happens. So here I am comfortable, my buttocks sunk in my bed, my back pressed against a bunch of pillows next to the wall, a warm sheet thrown over my legs and waist to temper the cold air steaming from the air-conditioner, as I type out words on this keyboard atop my belly and see them flash on the screen.

Where was I? What to write? Was there a purpose to start this?

I have no fucking idea. Was there a purpose to start this life?

Purpose. Repurpose.

I have repurposed my torn trackpants into a scrubbing cloth. Imagine what a meaningful life these trackpants are having. First, in their original form keeping my legs softly protected while running, and now in their new incarnation wiping dirt and grease from the floor.

I am done. I got nothing. If this appears abrupt, know that I spent about an hour thinking what I was going for here. I have hit a brick wall and I am not ready to bleed banging my head on it. This joke was all I had.

I saw something on X which I really liked:

I can’t picture myself living for ‘my’ snakes.

But, I could live to watch all the Mila Jovovich films though. Mila Jovovich.

Yup. Look at her.