Size Seven Shoes

Clarity. My mind feels exceptionally clear tonight. I am trying to figure out what it could be that is contributing towards me feeling this way. Perhaps it's the brief church retreat that I just attended? Or is it the rather exquisite coffee that I just drank earlier this evening? Then again, could it just have been the after effects of good company? No matter the reason, I am here now. In a familiar posture with my trusty laptop in... well, my lap... and my fingers poised for a few good hours (perhaps) of typing.I am all set to get going and to start writing some unfinished articles for work. I do not really look forward to doing this. There is a whole mess of data that I need to sift through and arrange into neat little sentences in order to create a respectable draft. I'm not sure sometimes whether having lots of information to process is more maddening or whether it is worse had I not had enough to work with. Either way, it is (at times) such a tremendously ta...

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, despite my snail like tendencies, I do endeavour to keep as many promises as I can, and I know full well that I still owe you blog readers of mine a few missing posts from the A to Z April Challenge (it's already JUNE! *wails*) so wherever possible I will attempt to fill in the gaps. For this post, I take on one of the more obscure and yet formidable of  alphabets: the letter Y. I spent most of my evening and night today clearing out and sorting my stationery drawer in my bedroom. In the process, I uncovered various treasures and memories from yesteryears - some of which I fondly recall, others which I don't even remember at all. It's so easy to leave our yesterdays behind, and to forget all too quickly the value they have added to our lives and the lessons we have learned and should remember at the right times in our present days (so as not to repeat the same old mistakes). One thing I especially cherished about my past was the ability I ...

I have been wanting to write, but feel as if I am paralysed whenever I actually try getting round to doing so. With the exception of work (which is a must-do thing if I want to continue receiving pay cheques every month), I feel as though I am somewhat hindered from writing the stuff I want to write. Well, technically there's nothing to stop me from writing, like what I'm doing right now. But I can't seem to muster any form of useful inspiration, and I keep myself from actually writing more and more often because I consider all times that I really did write, and feel horrible because I remember that the results of it were not very good. I wonder how I could have ever written any form of entertaining fictional pieces in the past to the extent that those in my social circle could actually compliment me on it. In fact, I can't quite comprehend why anyone would have wanted to read the stuff I wrote at all. Maybe it's just a rough patch of me not enjoying my work...