Breakfast

Sometimes I have an itch to write something, but I'm not sure what. It's a feeling in the back of my head that won't go away no matter what I do. Like a fly buzzing, flying around your head, high pitched, grating sound burrowing deep inside your brain.

Thing is, there is no way around it; you just have to sit down and write at some point, and those times are the best. Letter by letter, word by word, looking up a synonym to strike the exact note. Being forceful in writing helps you be blunt in all sentences you produce, spoken or otherwise.

I quite like the flow of words. Sometimes, I'd like to add something vague and weak, like "sometimes" or "actually", to subconsciously undermine what I'm planning to say, and writing keeps that awful habit in check. Writing from a first person helps to filter out trash you would say aloud. Adverbs, that make your speech weak. "Uh" and "umms", that let you stall for time. You just produce whatever you brain wants, and when you have to stop and look up what you actually wanted to say, break your rhythm, stop your flow - that's when you know your weakness.

On the other hand, writing just for the sake of writing tends to produce a tonne of sentences you'd never have said otherwise. Wonderful things, like a melody of a calm sea, a howl of a moonless night. Abstracts things, that, nevertheless, let you spark images in your mind and theirs. You say "smell of a winter's morning" and they understand you. You write "tight hug", and you make them feel it. There are so many things you can control by just sharing experiences so many of us know. It's what keeps me going in those days, where sharing my feelings or expressing my thoughts feels too difficult, futile.

What I know for sure, is that doing a "thing" every day (or, at least, with some consistency) makes you better at it. You wake up every morning, phone in hand, looking up what you've missed overnight - it's never something useful - spend 30 minutes to an hour just wallowing in your weakness, but then you have the energy to get up, to make an effort. That's when I learned how to apply the tiny impulse fighting though ocean of self pity and chemical reactions in my brain that doctors would categorize as a "real fucking depression, friend".

You get up and take a shower. Hot water running down your back, curtain sticks to your ass, you get soap in your eyes and rinse it. Dry yourself with a fresh towel, put on some clean clothes and climb the stairs down to the kitchen. Put a skillet on a burner, light the gas, add a few slices of butter. Crack the eggs, add tomatoes, bacon, cheese. Actually, pretty anything that's in the fridge can be fried. Unless you are planning to fry pickles or capers, you fucking maniac. Toast bread using the same skillet, fold it in two using cheese as an adhesive. Pour a glass of orange juice. Open the door to the backyard, sit down facing the morning sun and savor the plate of food befitting a king. You woke up today, that makes for a celebration.