Writing Bad

Bad writing is better than no writing, that’s what some people say however they have never read my bad writing obviously. As I type with my awkward slow hands, fingers struggling to hit the correct keys and making mistakes that I know I should ignore yet cannot help to go back and correct..The ‘ in the that’s..the capital in the I, does it really actually matter in the grand scheme of things. I decide that to me that it does, as I begin to hit the backspace key and correct the mistakes so that I no longer have to look at the little squiggles under my words (not that I actually look at my screen whilst typing which is kind of my problem). I could of course just save all those red zigzags up until the end and then auto correct it all yet there is something about them just being there..hovering…waiting…tutting with disdain that my typing is actually this bad…and so too my writing.

It’s the constant flow that is the important thing they say. That constant notion of typing..just something anything. Some random rubbish that pops into your head as you sit listening to the tip tip tap, annoying your own ears with the repetition of sounds and the soft thud of the L key as you hit it and then have to wait for it to …erm what’s the opposite of compress again?.. so you wait for the key to pop back up yet instead it lingers, held down against its will due to repeated drops of coke, trickles from wine spillages and full on torrents of cordial being knocked over and over again. I make a note to be more careful with drinks in future yet it never happens..I just can’t help it, I’m clumsy.

I think I was just born clumsy, I’d like to say that I came out kicking and screaming and was clumsy enough to kick someone in the face which would have made a great entrance story. However I cannot lie, my clumsiness was only my own issue, having gotten so tangled inside that I arrived into the world with a cord wrapped around my neck, no screaming, no kicking but silent..silent and blue.

Maybe this accounts for both my love and hatred of silence.

Yes, both!

Do you ever get the need to just want complete silence, to block out the world and all its annoyances. To get rid of the tapping and clicking, rattling and humming. To do away with the noises of society, the buzz of the lamp post, the clink of the gate, the constant droning of the heater or the washing machine or whatever it is that the upstairs flat dweller has that makes my teeth want to grind against one another. Of course not everyone can hear these things, not everyone notices the slow shifting of the world, the low undulations of life whirring in a constant circle..whirling in my head. And if you cannot hear them you will most likely point out that I am hearing things or have tinnitus or some such infliction because you can hear nothing but the sound of silence.

I would love that, to not hear these sounds that echo in my brain and drag down my thoughts to the paranoia of a basset hound awaiting an intruder. I would love to be able not to hear the flicker of the lights as the computer churns and the whistle from the monitor that can drive me crazy if I don’t catch it early enough.

I would love that silence…until I get it.

Then as soon as the silence comes and no noise can be heard, I am unsettled still. For in complete silence there still exists a slow thud of heartbeat, the soft murmur of being, that something which is overpowering and constant that coats my hearing and needles it’s way… into my soul.

Then I know that I am done for.

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3 comments

  1. When I am with others, I tend to be very talkative and do not like silence. This is because I grew up in a household where there was constant arguing and fighting followed by – you guessed it – massive amounts of silence as no one would talk to each other. Sometimes for hours, days, and even weeks. Shortly thereafter, the arguing would start again. Silence reminds me of those days and awful times.

    Like

      1. Thank you, but no worries. These are the cards I drew. A lot of people drew cards that are much more difficult than my hand.

        Our lives are what they are. I think we can continue to grow and learn from our past but we never forget our experiences. Even for those that try to push things down and forget them, as you said, even subconsciously, the events affect them.

        Liked by 1 person

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