Although writing comes naturally to me, It isn’t always easy. I often find myself staring blankly at a pale piece of paper or the antagonising faint line that blinks at the top of the page just longing to fill the empty space with beautiful meanings. Yet it stands still. As if it was taunting me on my inability to vocalise my inner thoughts, and it doesn’t know that whatever I’m trying to say is difficult and inexplicable. It just blinks. Every blink feels like a second wasted, and as I gaze into the reason behind the blinking I come to the realisation that I am executing procrastination at it’s finest.

I could sit and question the morals of inanimate screen objects for hours on end. Would my vast imagination come up with a twisted and abstract explanation for why I am so easily distracted? Probably not… but it serves a purpose in exercising the creativity I need to write my pieces. Without procrastination, how would I have opinions to voice, subjects that I feel matter? How would I get any work done?

My best work comes from the back of my mind and what is a mind if it isn’t open to distraction? A mind is nothing if disallowed to be creative, stray from the normative, or be a little less than sane.

We are conditioned to be closed off. Conditioned into doing and thinking the things we are told. That distraction is bad, and procrastination is bad, and expressing yourself is bad, and that everything that isn’t being fed to you by others is bad.

Ask yourself… has putting something off ever put someone in danger? Has day dreaming ever hurt anyone you love? Has sitting at a blank screen questioning the morals of inanimate screen objects ever meant you have wasted your time? Or does it mean you have indulged in the playground of your inner thoughts?





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