So, of course, I'm forcing myself to write again.
It's not unusual, especially if you've been reading this blog for the past few years. I still have this thing about writing four essays a month on here, and I have stuck with it all those years, although that usually means the last entry in a given month would be about writing, which tend to be boring, even for me, because I find myself repeating things I've said before.
Well, there's one difference. This morning I considered not writing a fourth essay, changing the goalposts and setting for myself a more conservative goal of three entries a month. It's mostly because I had a half-baked idea for an essay yesterday morning - I had an outline and a title while taking a post-grocery shower - and I got too lazy to write it down, until it all slipped away. And then, I thought, why bother?
But here I am, writing that fourth essay. I figured I would take the opportunity to use Shalla's laptop for some writing. It's a bit of a learning curve, because the control button on a Mac is different from the control button on the Windows PCs I've used all my life. Command-I to italicize, Niko. Command button. Command button. You didn't buy all those MacWorld issues for nothing, at least not apart from daydreaming of having a Mac for yourself.
And yes, that essay is going to be about writing. I think it's because at this point in the month I have a lot of ideas poking around in my head that I haven't gotten around to writing yet, perhaps because they haven't been fully-formed or, more likely, I'm just not in the mood. For the most part they're about far away places, the places I don't think I'll ever go back to in the next couple of years - well, longer, thanks to my international pariah theory. It would then occur to me that my last few essays have been about that as well, all in varying degrees of half-baked, the least half-baked of them being this thing about convenience stores I wrote a couple of weeks back. (Command-C to copy, Niko. Command-V to paste.)
The other common theme is about death, and, well, nobody wants to read about that.
To be frank, even I am not getting excited about the things I've been writing lately, so they stay in my head, and whenever I have time where I do nothing - difficult these days considering how everybody expects you to keep on working because you're doing it remotely anyway - I go back to those ideas and try to put things together. A quick escape, at least when I start playing with those thoughts about the places we've been to. I walk out of the condominium in the morning and feel the rush of cold air on my body (I would say my face, but you know, these fucking face shields) and I recall the moment I first experienced winter, when we stepped out of Incheon International Airport and a strong gust of wind hit our bodies, telling us that we're away from the grips of indoor temperature control.
And then I veer towards my mortality, of how I'm afraid of the nothingness that comes with it and how it nonetheless feels like the only way out of whatever the hell this ennui is, and I try to yank myself out of it. And yet I stay, because there is nowhere else to go and this is where we will all end up anyway.
That said, blogging on a MacBook is fun. And you don't need to worry about battery life, either. I'm 32. Will I ever afford to get one at some point in my remaining years?