Pkchukiss - Reality Wine

The situation dire, and the creative process gets gummed up in the cogs.

That was what happened these few days, and it had nothing to do with chewing Singapore-banned Wringleys. I felt literally milked dry when I poured all my mental energies into the masterpieces that were scheduled to go into a file that would be shoved into the deep recesses of a dusty repository, never to see daylight ever again.

I don’t know how you writers can keep up with working for 8 hours consecutively, and still come up with bushes to beat around: that I reached my limit within just two really impressed me with your perseverence. That, and spell check. I got horrified after a few minutes of typing to see Microsoft Word faithfully pointing out “pursual” in bright squiggly red. It reminded me very much of school days, which soon led me to think about university life.

It is kind of funny how something mudane like doing work can jolt you into full realisation of your life — the squandering, the regrets, the muddlings, the whole works.

By the way, in case you don’t understand what this post is all about, I’ll explain: I simply don’t. This sounds like a lot worse than the rambling sessions that what I usually do with friends. Far worse: I am a sponge wrung dry of meaningful sentences, that’s what.

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