I’ve spent the last couple of weeks working on a piece that centred on the anniversary of both the first lockdown and the start of my blog, both of which began on 23rd March 2020. I planned to post it on Tuesday, exactly one year on, but unfortunately I was rushed into hospital with appendicitis, which was quite bloody annoying really. I’ve had my appendix removed and I’m fine now but, as I sat rereading what I’d written last night, I realised it was actually pretty shit. It was passable and coherent but it was just the same old crap that I’ve already written about multiple times – how lockdown allowed to me to work on my physical and mental health, how it’s made me grateful for my friends, how we’ll hopefully come out the other side of this pandemic with a new perspective on life yada yada yada. Whilst I do think they’re all valid points, I’ve written about them extensively before, and it dawned on me that the dullness of this third lockdown has perhaps made me go a bit stale.
This left me thinking, what can I write about? I have to say something, I haven’t posted on my blog at all this month and people will start worrying about me if I don’t start sprouting some of my opinions soon. I don’t want to write about my hospital experience because, as grateful as I am for the doctors and nurses that looked after me, everyone loves the NHS and it’s hardly stimulating to write about. I thought about writing a piece detailing just how much I detest Jonny Mellor, but that might be a bit aggressive, even by my standards. I considered posting one of my endless amounts of unseen drafts, but then I reread some of them and remembered that there’s a reason they’re unseen. I contemplated writing about current affairs, such as the recent protests or the extension of emergency COVID laws, yet even that is failing to inspire me enough to write a whole post about it, despite having no shortage of opinions on such matters.
It finally dawned on me, however, as I write this and consider why I’m finding it so hard to get my words out, what exactly it is that I’m dealing with – I’m bored. I’m bored of being bored. I’m so bored of being bored that I’m finding it difficult to think of anything else other than how bored I am. Although the novelty of being locked inside wore off a long time ago, it has now progressed from being inconvenient and annoying to mind numbingly depressing. I can’t even be bothered to write about how excited I am to go out and see my friends because it feels so painfully boring and obvious.
I think there’s also the possibility that I’ve tried so hard to think of something worthwhile or amusing to write that I’ve tied myself up in knots and now nothing I can produce will be good enough to be deemed worthy of the blog. I know in my head that this is preposterous because I’m such a naturally talented writer that anything I produce is worth reading, yet I can’t escape the niggling feeling in the back of my head that I’ve got nothing left to say and I should just shut up until I can be good again.
Therefore, I have decided I am just going to post this – a piece where I explain why I can’t write a piece. It’s all I can do for now. Hopefully, having something this shit on my blog will get the words flowing again, as should the impending easing of lockdowns restrictions and our encouraging steps back towards normality. Either that or I’ll just drown myself.
I hope you’re all well. Stay safe.
