Insanity

How does one write a couple of thousand words every day, when there's not much to write, when there's not much happening. There's only so many things you can think of, or consider, or imagine. And with that, only so much random content you can create without proper restraints and discipline.

Discipline. That is what I lack. That is why we're here. So that I can build proper discipline and muscle memory. To be able to write. To be able to create. To excite the grey matter.

It's hard. Sometimes there's days where I sit in front of the keyboard, and my mind is blank. Nothing, not even a stupid list. Lists are easy, relatively speaking. They're like cheating. I can't do those either often. We end up at this point. Days without a post. The posts lack substance. Disappointment.

What is disappointment but a mismatch of expectations and reality. If you want to avoid disappointments, you either change reality or you adjust your expectations. That's what's warranted here. This is nothing. This is crap, all of it, and it wasn't meant to be anything else, ever. This is just a practice, and it's okay if this is bad. Bad is good, it elucidates where you're lacking. Helps one figure out a plan of action to improve, if that's what you want. That is an option to. Stasis is an option, as long as there is proper discipline and practice of the craft.

There's no good stuff. There's no secret learnings, no novel plans -- though I have been working on those. There's no thought-provoking content, nothing to amuse or entertain. Everything is shit. Including this, and the one following this, the one after and so forth. And it's fine. The quickest path to happiness is acceptance. No, that's not nihilism, not fatalism, just coming to terms with the fact of one's actual lack of talent.

This was only a practice thing anyway. It's fine.

Let's get on with it then.