a tasket, a tisket, I always want a biscuit
I wish there was a blogger-brain link that let me write blogposts while I'm driving. Because that's when the thoughts come. They feel less fluid when I'm sat on the sofa, though ironically that's what I was thinking about driving up the road.
Bedded in. Settled down. Comfortably ensconced.
Sigh. That is me. Even the thought of popping upstairs to get the laptop and write about that filled me with a sort of lassitude - though I'm learning that's the Gatekeeper trying to stop me from doing stuff, and it's not really real. In reality I popped upstairs, had a wee, and grabbed it. Tisk.
It's funny how the mind works. I was just musing on the need to smoke, which I thankfully don't have (nail biting, skin picking, hair-pulling, comfort eating are my self medications). I've long held the belief that a lot of people need that huge drag on their cigarette not just because of nicotine withdrawal, but also because it's the only time in their day that they inhale and exhaaaaaale mindfully.
It's sad that it has to be poisonous to make them do it. I was thinking, instead of the dubious vaping, what we need is a kind of Star Trek oxygen tube, that gives you a hit of pure air and what I was thinking of as a sort of chemically induced feeling of peace, calm, well-being or joy. And I've just realised a friend of mine wrote it in her book Clockwork Butterfly , where people go to bars for a hit of oxytocin. That's it, really we just need to breathe in little tubes of something that makes you feel hugged and loved once an hour or so.
I say it's funny how the mind works as just as I'd formulated that thought, I leapt up and raided my son's Halloween stash. Mhmm. Pavlov.
Bedded in. Settled down. Comfortably ensconced.
Sigh. That is me. Even the thought of popping upstairs to get the laptop and write about that filled me with a sort of lassitude - though I'm learning that's the Gatekeeper trying to stop me from doing stuff, and it's not really real. In reality I popped upstairs, had a wee, and grabbed it. Tisk.
It's funny how the mind works. I was just musing on the need to smoke, which I thankfully don't have (nail biting, skin picking, hair-pulling, comfort eating are my self medications). I've long held the belief that a lot of people need that huge drag on their cigarette not just because of nicotine withdrawal, but also because it's the only time in their day that they inhale and exhaaaaaale mindfully.
It's sad that it has to be poisonous to make them do it. I was thinking, instead of the dubious vaping, what we need is a kind of Star Trek oxygen tube, that gives you a hit of pure air and what I was thinking of as a sort of chemically induced feeling of peace, calm, well-being or joy. And I've just realised a friend of mine wrote it in her book Clockwork Butterfly , where people go to bars for a hit of oxytocin. That's it, really we just need to breathe in little tubes of something that makes you feel hugged and loved once an hour or so.
I say it's funny how the mind works as just as I'd formulated that thought, I leapt up and raided my son's Halloween stash. Mhmm. Pavlov.
The ideas that flow when we're engaged in other activities can be solid inspiration for our writing but somehow, for me at least, sitting down and turning the actual words over in my mind is something that I love to do. That makes it craft and these posts are an excellent example of that- craft. The craft of writing.
ReplyDeleteI've been thinking about your "gatekeeper" concept. Mine's pretty damn adamant about stuff I can and cannot do too.