Excuses

I’m very good at excuses. I remember, in school (and that was a while back) making the excuse that I would wait until I got a computer until I wrote my novel. Then it was till I finished studying (IT). Then until I finished travelling. Then I decided to study English and Philosophy and learn from the masters. Unfortunately reading the greats humbled me, and put me off writing for a while, and then I got a job, and my excuse became that I was too busy.

Well, 9 years later, from April I’ll have no job. I’ll have done more than my fair share of studying, will have a computer, a laptop even, and I’ll make sure it gives me more than the current 3/4 hours I get on this one so that I can sit on top of the mountain and feel inspired. And yes, I can carry it up the mountain.

However, the looming excuse is that I don’t have anything I want to say that badly. My school novel would have been a Douglas Adams style comic science-fiction. Then a Storm Constantine-like epic, followed by some William Blake/David Zindell spiritual science-fiction, a wild Kerouac/Ginsberg-like road trip, or some equally wild (and unintelligible) poetry.

The mind is never more creative than when it’s being lazy. Full of energy, I start to meditate, only to begin yawning and thinking how urgent it is that I paint the porch, or wash the car, neither of which I’d have conceived of doing without the aid of meditation. Of course should I stop meditating, I’d soon be slouched on the couch doing something worthy like reading the press releases that pass for journalism in the daily newspaper, or watching the drek on TV.

I’ve changed a lot since I began my first novel. So much of what I would have wanted to say I can’t say anymore, as I’m no longer the same person. But I have no regrets, and it will be interesting, come April, to see what I do with all that time. I’ve promised myself that I’ll only do things I’m passionate about. Already I have too many choices, like a child in front of Cape Town’s best ice cream parlour (in Camps Bay).

This whole post, by the way, was prompted by the excuse that I haven’t posted to my blog since the 1st, a perfect opportunity to escape the minor programming work I’m doing, that’s due tomorrow.

3 comments

  1. Synchronicity. A few seconds ago, I was replying to an email with a beautifuly justified excuse for drinking a cup of coffee and smoking a cigarette. Mid sentence, my rss reader informs me of your latest headline “excuses”. Not entirely sure that I appreciate these eddies in the space-time continuum, particularly when I’m in deep denial. Is it denial if I know thats what I’m doing? I don’t like this precipice. Another slug of coffee. Light a cigarette. What is on the other side of the smokescreen? What will life be like without the filters? Pretty good, I should imagine. What am I afraid of? The next hour. The next minute. The next second…

  2. I’ve come to realise there are no real coincidences. When I’m distracted I don’t notice much synchronicity. When I’m more aware, I notice some every day.

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