while i have still been writing fair bit, not much of it has been exposed - and when i say exposed, i mean fully naked in the warm ocean at sunset, with a nice meal and a cold beer waiting at home - most my writing these days is just potent little thoughts in a messy little notebook - this is because whenever i sit down to write (and whenever i do, i never put any thought into what i’m going to write, incase you havent picked that up yet…) i’m mostly wrestling my natural desire to write about zed, about being a father and raising a kid and hanging out with a kid - and i know that no-one really wants to read that - not really - but it’s impossible to avoid
i used to have this raging desire to talk about running to anyone and everyone - i had to tone myself down whenever someone asked me what i was doing that night… - oh not much, probably just cook dinner, go for a run, chill out - …i really i wanted to go into great detail about how i was planning to approach that night’s 15km run, and what music i had planned to listen to as i approached the 13km mark - i learnt far too late that, generally speaking, no-body cares about music any more - i could sit around all day everyday drinking beers and talking passionately about my favourite bands and albums and songs, but people just want to dress up like hippies for the weekend and hug each other at music festivals
so i’ve learnt to keep quiet and let people be - i keep my life simple and that keeps me happy - however, i get deeply miserable if i don’t (at least attempt to) do something creative with my time - the trippy little videos i make have been taken over by zed - that’s fine, they’re just for fun - photography, while easy and packed with cheap friendly praise, annoys me as now everyone with a mobile phone is a photographer - i lack the patience (and ability) it takes to paint - but since writing has always been a great true creative passion of mine, im disturbed at how zed has affected my ability to do so
it’s nothing negative, and only natural - but every time i sit down to write about the absurd wonders of the universe, and the madness of everyday life, i’m fighting a great powerful urge to write about the smile on zed’s face as she eats a handful of cheese and sways to the music of david bowie in cute little pink pants - the affect it has had on me is utterly profound, and i hate myself for writing that - because nobody cares - all i’ve done is learn something life has known since life began - but hey, we should be proud of the fact that we learnt the earth was round - that realisation is profound - i wish i was around for it, or the moon-landing, and not just acts of terrorism
im tempted to just take a deep breath, lock the door and pump the music and swig on beers and gush out my writing and my thoughts on zed and being her father - spew it all out like unicorns spewing rainbows, just like they do on the internet - screaming how adorable and cool she is when she laughs and runs and screams and talks and kisses and cuddles, as i wrap my arms around the toilet and see a sunny day with the softest clouds doing the rounds under the influence of good vibes - hurling it all into space and let it dissipate to find the stars one day - find a way to articulate the innocence of her perfect laughter, the absurdity of me being a father, somehow responsible for this little person as i stand back and allow her to spank a kilo pack of sausages in the supermarket as people around her wait for her to finish - and i laugh to myself everyday because of her - and all those little things i've got to do, all those little things i should worry about, they disappear because she’s happy and asleep and warm and fed, and i can now write about how we always remember our nightmares, but never our dreams
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