Time gentlemen, please.

I’ve been reading a few blogs recently, something I didn’t bother me arse doing before I started this exercise in space-filling, and I’m seriously impressed with the output from some of them. One of the best out there is Eoin Butlers tripping along the ledge, which sees the main man banging out one or two wordy monsters a day. But then Mr.Butler is a professional journalist with geanasi loads of experience, he can just stick his typey fingers down his literary gullet and spew forth a chunky spill of well crafted wordsmithery. Easy as pie for the likes of him, maybe, I don’t know to be honest , theres always the possibility that he can’t sleep and is haunted by the waking nightmares of a once very disappointed English teacher, long since dead, as the wind whispers “I really expected better of you mister Butler” in the quiet spaces of the night . But then theres the regular dude like Maxi Cane who actually has a full time job like I used to and still manages to bang out regular and sizeable posts. The Abyss and The Unemployed Blog are high quality when they actually get round to posting at all, and my number one favourite is xkcd.com with an average of one new savagely funny wee cartoon every two days. So much creativity, so little time. How the fuck are they all doing it? and for that matter how does anybody do anything? Inertia grounds me, I find it incredibly hard to do anything that I don’t absolutely have to do, even the things I’m actually good at, even the things I enjoy. I wallow in apathy, it’s my nature as evidenced by thirty years of fighting against it, and every little thing I have ever achieved is a monumental victory against the inherent tendency to rest. So yeah, other people doing stuff, and especially doing stuff well, impresses the holy living bejeebus out of me.
Aldous Huxley makes a point in After Many a Summer that I’ll paraphrase / butcher here because I’m far too lazy find it again in the book. “The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak” – this biblical quote, oft bandied about to explain why you are not doing what you should be doing, or what you said you’d definitely do by Wednesday at the latest, is fundamentally  flawed. The flesh is not weak, the flesh is very strong. If the flesh was not so strong the spirit could control it easily. Want to play an instrument? No bother, just put in two hours practice every day after work, hit the gym for an hour, eat, clean the house, have the chat with whoever, indulge in a creative hobby or two, maybe some research or a distance learning course, and hit the hay for six hours. No problem. After all, outside of work and sleep most of us have about six hours to burn, that’s nearly another whole work day. Lucky for me that Mr. Huxley took the time out to reassure and explain that it’s not weakness that keeps me from living every day to its fullest, rather it is strength. I ‘m too damn strong for my own good. As powerful as my will to do, learn, explore, create and adventure is, the will of my physical form to rest, plan, mooch, stare vacantly and put things on the infinitely long finger is even greater. It’s the not-quite irresistible force meets the almost immoveable object.
I’m doing stuff to try and favour the not-quite irresistible force though, and trying to erode the almost immoveable object. Its war man, the war for my six hours. I want that shit back, I may only have  438,000 hours left on this planet, a third of which will be spent asleep, which is great, but I know a shocking amount of them will be spent working or talking to people I don’t like, so every extra hour I can salvage for myself , my loved ones or playing Freespace 2 is chronological gold.

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