A Writer In Wonderland

It’s a lazy day so let’s see where this goes. Do I have any ideas? Nope. Do I have anything to say? Absolutely not. Will that shut me up and send me back to bed? Nah, I’ve got too many thoughts buzzing around my head. As much as I’d like to nap, the loud hum between my ears will keep me up for hours.

There’s nothing else to do, so I’m going to do the one thing I do with a modicum of skill or, at least, regularity. Word vomit, here we come! Wait, there’s a better way to say that. Uh, it’s called free writing because that doesn’t sound so moist. Sorry if that word offends you. Ew, squishy word choices, no thank you.

The sun is out, and the wind is blowing. I have a fire crackling, and my windows are wide open. It’s chilly (about -9 degrees celsius), but the fresh air feels amazing. Oo, that gust was blistering, and it rattled my deck. Where’s my blanket? I should close everything and lock all the doors, but the contrast is oddly invigorating.

The heat coming from the fireplace is making me dozy. The freezing wind blowing in from the open windows and deck door is a slap across the face. It’s a tug of war between two extremes, and I’m the piggy in the middle. It’s making my body vibrate and my brain tingle. I don’t want to sit still, but I don’t want to extricate myself from this cocoon.

What do I do? Oh, what do I do?

Naturally, I pick up my computer because the urge to write is hitting me hard. Unfortunately for you, me, and my tingly brain— sigh— I have nothing to say. Nothing of substance or relevance. Hard-hitting journalism? Ha, perish the thought. Thought provoking blogging? Well, who am I to stifle the thoughts that might be provoked, but I wouldn’t count on it. 

So, why am I doing this? It’s fun, duh.

Words are the paintbrush, and the page is a blank canvas. The possibilities are endless, and so are my limitations. Oo, that’s a bit contrary, but it’s my art, my craft, the one thing that gives me an ounce of amusement. So, I paint abstract pictures with my keyboard and hope someone out there sees the beauty in it.

If nothing else, it’s satisfying and cleansing. It’s like therapy only cheaper, and no one’s asking me how it makes me feel. I hate feeling words. They’re slippery little buggers flittering and scurrying down long, dark rabbit holes. Even when one is caught, it’s slimy and gooey. It doesn’t have much substance, and it certainly doesn’t carry the necessary— Oh, what’s the word?— Oomph.

How do I feel? Well, a little like Alice in Wonderland minus the Mad Hatter and the mice making tea. Off with her head! At least I don’t have my own Queen of Hearts chasing me over-hill and over-dale. Unless, of course, we’re speaking in metaphors, in which case…Mm, I think that’s another painting for a different day.

Today? I have nothing to say. Nothing of value, that is. There’s been too much of that sort of thing lately, and to be frank, I’m tired of it. The world is heavy, and people are angry. It’s us versus them and them versus us. Around and around we go. All the while, somewhere out there, there’s a Cheshire Cat with a wicked grin drinking it all in.

Oh goody, it purrs as it flexes its claws. Trouble, trouble, toil and bubble. Uh, that’s the wrong story, bud. Sorry, getting things a bit twisted. Perhaps they’ve teamed up? The Cat and the Witches. Carrol and Shakespeare. Trouble makers the lot of em.

Not today, you little minx! Have some catnip and relax. The curtain has fallen, and intermission has commenced. Today, for just this moment, we raise a glass of whatever you like and put our differences aside. A deep breath, if you please, and let it out slowly.

Mm, that’s better.

It doesn’t matter where you are on this spherical merry-go-round. Here, there, or somewhere in between? It feels like the people of this planet, myself included, are turning ourselves inside out. We’re twisting our internals into knots and waving them over our heads like a dime store cowboy, cowgirl, cow-person. 

Those pesky feeling words are all jumbled up. No, actually, they’ve been reshaped, sharpened, and turned into projectiles. Weapons of emotional destruction? Sticks and stones are no longer good enough. They’ve become archaic tools that belong in antiquity. We’re more sophisticated than that.

Our words, they’ve become our preferred artillery. Contrary to what we’ve been told, words might not break our bones, but they can break our spirits. One is a lot easier to heal than the other. When one fractures? It’s never going to be the same.

Is that why everything seems topsy-turvy? 

Is it just me, or have things become madder than it’s been in recent memory. It really feels like, collectively, we’ve lost our minds. A giant chasm has formed between us. There’s a clear divide. The blurry edges where both sides once met have been coloured in, and now we can’t find any trace of the middle ground.

Ah, the sweet spot where we could set aside our differences and embrace the one thing we all have in common: Our shared humanity. Also, our intrinsic need for decency, kindness, and compassion. We all need those things, but somewhere along the way, we’ve forgotten that giving and receiving is a mutual exchange rather than something that’s owed.

What a peculiar species we are or have become? So busy demanding this and that. Yelling. Screaming. Punching the air. Using our words, demanding to be heard, but refusing to listen.

We’re saying more words on more stages than ever before. It should, ideally, lead to conversation and understanding. We should be growing not regressing. We should… Ah, but rather than learning from differing life experiences, we’re fighting to prove that ours is the only one that’s valid. We’re using words like weapons. We’re emotionally wounded and spiritually battered.

“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.

“Oh, you ca’n’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”

“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.

“You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.” — Alice In Wonderland, Chapter 6, Pig and Pepper.

The Cat might be right. I haven’t met a sane person in a very long time. Is there such a thing as a mentally stable human being? Could it be a matter of degrees? Sanity, in its purest form, is unattainable. Some people, miraculously, get closer to it than others. Or, they’re better at faking it, but even the most skilled performer can’t hide the madness for long.

Is that what’s going on? We’re all tired of trying to look “normal” (whatever the hell that means). We’ve kept our shit together for two years, and now we’re over it. We’re tired of masking our feelings and putting on a brave face. We’ve been stripped down to our bare bones, and we’re feeling a little tender.

Yes, that could be woven through the spiritual or physical if you please. Bruised. Fractured. Tired. Healing, of course, but that takes time. If that’s how you’re feeling? I assure you, you aren’t the only one.

I’ve been a lot more snippy than I usually am. There’s a bite in my voice that I can’t control. My level of patience is at an all time low, and my sigh has become quite exaggerated. Not today, Satan! What fools these mortals be! Yes, I actually said those words out loud. Thankfully, no one was within earshot, or that could’ve been awkward.

It’s all been bit too much, hasn’t it?

That’s why I’m sitting here on a lazy day indulging in a random flight of fancy. I’m allowing these images from a storybook wonderland to prance through my head. I’m enjoying the contrast between the hot and cold because it’s painting silly words onto this page. It’s bringing out my own version of madness that’s a bit absurd when I think about it too long.

But it’s fun, so at least I’ve got that going for me.

Perhaps it’s not a bad thing to do every so often. Indulge the madness just a bit and follow it down a rabbit hole. Especially when life gets too heavy, and the outside world turns itself inside out and twists its innards into knots. It’s as good a time as any to temporarily leave reality so you can realize what’s really important.

In my case, sometimes I need to let the words paint a picture rather than come in here with a paint gun. Gentle strokes rather than hard and heavy. Draw silly little pictures instead of trying for a masterpiece. Instead of saying something that matters, I say nothing at all and have a little fun.