It’s really difficult coming back from time away, you know. A holiday gives you a different perspective on things, and you start to realise there’s a bit more to life than what you do for a living.
Thus it is that I’ve come home from two weeks away and I’m still fairly unmotivated. I haven’t got back into my daily rounds yet: writing articles, reading blogs, checking the news, searching Google to see if I’ve made it off the last page yet (nope. Part of me feels like throwing my hands in the air and saying: You know what, Google? You can just fuck off because you obviously have lost the plot and I just don’t care anymore).
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And some things feel kind of trivial. Stepping back into the blogosphere after a time away has made me realise that it’s almost self-contained. There’s a constant scrambling for links, for recognition, for some evidence that one’s angst-begotten scribblings are read by someone, anyone. And the ever-present need for content, for something to write about, to create yet another post to mark the day’s passing. It’s tiring.
And a vacation can make you realise that ultimately the little things – the newest video, the amusing gossip, the latest memes don’t actually matter in the broad scheme of things.
I mean, I went snorkelling on the Great Barrier Reef and a shitload of the coral was grey or white – bleached from rising temperatures. How do you go back to normality after that?
This feeling will pass. I’ll get drawn back in again, and probably sooner than I expect. Indeed, I wasn’t going to writing anything about this, but I felt a need to express it before the everyday claims me once again.
Not to worry. I’ll be back to my porny self again very soon.