Lost Thoughts

Over the last few years I have found that I tend to do my best thinking on my walk into work. Whilst this might, at first, seem like an odd time to be lost in thought, in reality it is not. By that point in the morning I have been awake and active for some time, I have generally showered, eaten a fairly healthy breakfast, of porridge and dried fruit, and drank at least one large glass of water or fruit juice. Bearing this in mind I am actually well primed for my working day, both mentally and physically. However being well prepared for work does not mean that I am actually ready to face spending yet another 10 hours surrounded by people I despise, doing a job I can barely stand. To help prepare myself for this, as soon as I step out of the door my body goes into auto pilot and my mind becomes lost in private imaginings and thoughts. Unfortunately this means that by the time my working day is over, and I’m back and my parents, I have completely forgotten any ideas that I may have had.

Dreamer? Fool? Writer?

Once again I appear to be going through a slump where I feel as if I have nothing to say that is actually worth sharing, although in all fairness nothing I ever have to say is actually worth sharing, but that does not stop me from sharing it. When I look back at the last 20 odd years of my life one of the few things that has remained a constant within myself is my desire to be a writer. Essentially ever since I have been able to read, with any degree of skill, I have coveted and wanted for myself the ability to take what is on my mind/in my imagination, whether fact or fiction, and put that onto paper in an accurate and compelling manor. I am aware that, to a certain degree, I do actually possess this ability, however I also know that whatever level of ability I do possess is no more, or no less, than that of the vast majority of people. Unlike the vast majority I have actually had some of my writings puplished, although admittedly only in an anthology of short stories and poems by amateur writers and then I wasn’t even paid for my efforts. One of my stories and a short poem I wrote as a teenager were included as the prize in a competition I entered in my early twenties. Unfortunately since that time I have found that my ability to transfer what I see in my minds eye in to words and on to paper has waned somewhat and with that I find myself writing less and less, what I do write I no longer find enjoyable to read. I am not entirely sure whether this is because I continue to write as I did as a teenager but my tastes in literature and what I chose to read have matured or what I write now is no longer as compelling or interesting as it was when I was younger. The only thing I can be sure about is that I still wish to be a writer, but the older I get the more this seems like a dream and the less likely it is to actually happen. Anyway my friends with that said I shall bid you all a fond good night…