I have spent far too much time at my desk today despite my early morning walk being longer than expected, waylaid and delayed by the movement of cows. It's that time of year when farmers shift animals from field to field, the only marker a piece of string hung across the single track roads to stop vehicular traffic. The sheepdog (also used for cows around here, though sometimes spaniels are preferred) snarls in a very unfriendly fashion as we contemplate passing him, so we double back on ourselves. The bullocks bellow, but soon seem to settle. Meanwhile, I'm told by a farmer with his soft Devon burr to go left, right and right again to get back on track, taking in a hamlet I've never seen before, though I've seen the signposts. Everywhere looks the same with these high Devon hedges established on the roadside banking. Still, the diversion gives me new sights to absorb, nature unfolding, and once back on the beaten track, I even spot the pot-holes have been filled.
It's been a day! Lots of mild interruptions, mild irritations and enforced mild manners, too. Except among the politicians discussing Brexit. Subsumed.
Major irritation.
Even I am now bored and dismayed by the prime minister's famous stubbornness, by the sheer illogicality of many of the arguments.
Somehow, despite all these shenanigans, I seem to have spent long hours at my desk. My shoulders ache and I'm still here, prepping for this week's copywriting deadline. The work looks especially long as I realise serious editing is also needed. Part of me deplores the routine repetition of it when I really want to go and enjoy what author, Patrick Gale, calls "preposterous beauty". This area is crammed with it. Yet, another part of me remains fascinated by simply stringing words together to create sense. Truth is, I love creating narratives full of words, but I probably like reducing other people's even more.
Where others may watch television, or do some housework, or just 'chill', I prefer to sit at my desk writing, something, anything. Is it an illness when you cannot bear to stop?
Just another article.
Then I'll finish. Oh, but wait a minute, what about ... as my brain slips to yet something else which needs writing, reading or researching.
Why do I not think of phrases like "preposterous beauty"?
Synonyms: absurd, crazy, excessive, fantastic, foolish, impossible, incredible, insane, irrational, laughable, ludicrous, nonsensical, outrageous, senseless, shocking, unbelievable, unreasonable, unthinkable ...
This week I talked to a woman who is training for the London marathon. Even she reaches a point when it becomes just a tad tedious, the last few miles.
The woman sees running as a challenge. I find writing a form of relaxation. Both of us find life unthinkable without our fix.
While writing, I can think of nothing else. That's why I must do it.