Unrestrained Urges

A short piece today and, whilst time is always precious, that’s not the main reason.

I want to exercise restraint.

Having blogged everyday throughout May I was a little perturbed to find on Sunday that my fingers were getting itchy. I took the morning off, lazed around a bit, read the papers and so on and then worked at the pub from two till eight. After the some dinner I, without actually making the decision to do so, found myself perched behind the computer. Poised. Ready to update the world on my day.

Which was slightly weird.

Yesterday, I again part of me wanted to force an entry out in-between writing a whole chapter of the novel and heading out to a bar to make idle conversation with a girl wearing a nineteen-twenties style ball dress, carrying a telescopic cigarette holder and sporting a rather elegant moustache.

(Don’t ask.)

Resisting these urges is surprisingly difficult. I’m not very good at resisting any urge, truth be told - although never acting on the rather odd impulse I had a few times in Sheffield to run off with pushchairs containing babies was probably a good thing - but the urge to post is so simple to scratch. Just open a new document, hell I’m sitting here anyway, and type away.

Instead, I’m getting little twitches in my wrists. Allegedly amusing lines are presenting themselves to me and then disappearing again, like hallucinations.

So, whilst I’m not quite going cold turkey I am strictly rationing how much time I spend writing on this, as opposed to how much time I spend writing the thing I’m supposed to be. I need to ensure that my percentage balance of work/piffle stays happy.

H‘mm. Blogging addiction. There’s probably loads on the internet about it. Just open google and away…

No. No.

Work not waste…