Journal Du Jour
18th March 2021
Binged an appalling show last night. Putrid. Vacuous. Vain. Shoddy. Lackadaisical. Ignorant. Since I’ve started #creatingcontent, I’ve been sensitive to criticising other’s work. But this was simply abysmal.
It has an 88% rating on RT. Could they be on the take? Or are they fawning, obsequious delinquents? Doubt it. Maybe I am just deluded. Art is subjective. Right?
Creating value. Easier said than done. Only when confronted with a blank canvas does the enormity of a sentence show it’s not so insignificant weight. I should know. I’ve tried and failed.
Failure is evidence of effort. It needs to be cherished. Revered even. To succeed, you must have failed. To rise, you must have fallen. Behind every fortune lies a crime. Mario Puzo et al.
Lazy day today. Lot of idleness interspersed with meaningless work. First world problems.
Went ballistic with food today. Ate whatever I want. Deep-fried kebabs. Lamb burgers. Basmati rice. The smell of grass-fed goat lingering in the kitchen. No walk. No weights. No exercise minutes. No fitness rings completed. The fancy watch looks at me with utter disdain. Scorn. Hopelessness.
A terrible day in toto. Zero mojo for work or exercise or writing. Stock market slumped. The Arsenal lost a home match. Bitcoin dips. Calorie counting abandoned. Weights lie unused.
Days like this happen. Speed bumps in well-intentioned plans. They needn’t become craters. They can though. Burnout is inevitable. All sparks extinguish. All thirst gets quenched. All fizzle flops. And all writers don’t write all the time.
Time for the great reset. Nothing drastic — just some relaxation and rejuvenation. And go hard again. From Monday though. Don’t feel like pushing myself before then.
To new beginnings.
Till be the morrow.