Mess.

There is the kind of mess that is associated with creativity, and which is in fact a fiendishly well-organised system hiding under layers of apparent crap to fool the unwary eye; Then there is the kind of mess that the rest of us occupy. I'm not writing on this or my other blog as often as I would like, nor am I really making any progress with my studies, nor am I doing pretty much of bugger all as far as I can see. Why is debatable, but primarily it's because everything feels and looks like a mess around me at the moment. It's also because, for whatever reason, I feel almost as if I have some invisible presence behind me, a silent, disapproving editor watching every single thing I scrawl down, and this puts me off writing anything at all.
In fact, I often have this sensation of a silent critic at my back, a loitering shadow eager and willing to criticise and moan, and have done ever since I can remember. It has put me off doing mopre things in my life than I care to remember. And one thing it has always been most insistent on is this idea of a mess. In other words, it has always been the thing at my back insisting that I must needs do this, that or the other before I get on with the real task in hand. It's always there, telling me that if I don't get such and such done, I'll be wrong or dispproved of etc. And without doubt, it has led to me not doing as much in my life as I should have.
Well, enough wittering.