A friend is moving, downscaling to a smaller home. She asked me if I wanted my discworld novels back. I picked them up and started reminiscing about how sourcery introduced me to that wonderful octarine world. How Pratchett’s discworld introduced me to different ways of thinking (even if I didn’t agree with them) like the afterlife exactly meeting your expectation of it. He was more than a novelist, he was a crash course in philosophy, and he was my entry point into a multiverse that sprawled into Bas Lag, Arrakis, Westeros, Middle Earth, New Haven, and so many more. I devoured books all through teenage. They were a wonderful escape and company in a lonely time.

I used to write prolifically thanks to those inputs. I would sit, insomnious and inspired, writing short stories or thoughts on my BlackBerry and posting them to Facebook. I wrote just over three hundred of those notes, and at 19 I wrote an (admittedly, obejectively bad) novel.

Video games and weed were easier. They were the simpler route to escape. I needed to sleep to function, and prose took too long.

At some point I stopped contemplating, and then I stopped being contemplative. I’m not so smart that I can’t lose myself in mundanity. And I did just that. Thousands of hours poured into mind-numbing distance from myself. I became cynical about the connectedness and patterns I loved seeing in the world, and I caught myself tonight thinking back on past friends and instinctively turning the rudder in the other direction.

I took anti-psychotics to sleep, every night for the past two years or so, until about a month ago. I was tired of what they did to me. And since then I’ve gradually began working more passionately on my boardgame.

I used to feel like I ‘lost something along the way’. Hopefully I’ve only misplaced it. I am ridiculously absent-minded , after all.

I watched my favourite movie with my girlfriend tonight. She didn’t like it and had to endure it. A labour of love. Laborious love, if you prefer. But she did watch it with me.

Anyway, my friend’s moving house. She’s evaluating and prioritising what needs to go and what has to stay. I need to do something similar. God knows you always rediscover things you used to love when you pack.

So here’s to the imminent spring and its cleaning

Emmers, dude.

Ten spyte van vervreming bly ek lief vir jou.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s