The Solid Wall of Writing

Long-form writing about film, games, books, culture, and the ideas behind them.

Just writing. OK, maybe sometimes a picture, but mostly writing.

Slowly, the nails holding me down come loose and I roll on the floor a little before I get up. I wake up to apathy, maybe a little total anorexia. Stuffed with the urge to do nothing, I pick a tape at random and load it into the stereo. I pick Beth Orton and press play and then think about looking out the window but I instead turn to the computer. As I turn it on and wait for it to boot up I stare at the monitor. I watch it go through the regular process and watch all the words and icons flick into life. With everything sitting on the desktop where it should be, all I can do is stare through the bright blue screen. I don’t know what the feeling is, maybe a little disinterest in everything. Usually the total anorexia thing comes about because I really want to do something but can’t care for anything, nothing feels right. Mix it up with apathy and you get a desire to do nothing and yet nothing seems desirable. The most that you can hope for if this hits you is for it to pass quickly (not likely) or to find a comfy spot to dwell in whilst the anorexic apathy monster runs riot in your apartment (possibly the best case scenario but often most unlikely). Most often you squirm in a hundred different uncomfortable positions. I had fallen on to the bed in a curled up heap but lying there for only minutes I had begun to feel weird. The weirdness pervaded from my mind to my body and I was left feeling physically uncomfortable by the fast spreading feelings. I slid off the side of the bed, feeling like a cracked raw egg sliding down a wall. I dragged my face across the sheets and pillows and got to a slouched position on the floor from where I could mount an effort to stand. I stood up and lazily grabbed the TV remote. I toyed with it. TV would bw a welcome distraction, an opoate to fill my day. I’m way too young to wish the days away, wish your life away, waiting for nothing and everyone wants to sing about pink houses but no one wants to live in them, well, ain’t that A