I keep approaching this and then shirking away. Like a married couple after too long. Long live the soft, withered, dry remains of Mr Hummels. Every time I do write something it ends up being the fragment of a poem which you didn’t want to read on social media.

Frankly there is too much happening.

All around. Everywhere.

Things of mild importance and significance.

And I got fat over Christmas.

That wasn’t a poem, perhaps it should be.

I wrote something before Christmas which was supposed to auto-post, thankfully it didn’t. I think that now I pay top dollar for this site, if I go scheduling posts for New Years eve they alert the Samaritans rather than post for me. They need the revenue from their top earner. That would be fairly cruel, if ever you did wish to go out that way. I’ve said before that there is nothing sadder than an unpublished suicide note…

It’s far from where I am now, thankfully. I’m hovering in the middle ground fueled by cortisol and coffee. Which makes it odd that I keep sleeping in? Maybe I am depressed? Don’t think so, though life as Hibs fan’ll do that to you.

Life in front of a screen is killing me, though. Killing us all. But it’s a positive feedback loop and a very difficult one to step out of. I’d imagine there is a capital paywall to actually step out of it, one which is not available to mugs trying to organise their MSc’s. Like me.

In some respects I’m trying to set up a positive feedback loop,  one which necessarily demands that I have less time and fun. Completing abstract tasks in the hope that I can set up a life somewhere nice, doing something OK which doesn’t make me feel awful so that I can spend my spare time typing out drivel to bring in the big bucks for the guys over at wordpress. Unfortunately this means that I cannot currently write anything or have fun now. But one day I’ll be the champ.

Just you keep coming back.

Forever.

Mr Hummels x