I'ts the 25th of June 2018. The sky is grey and clouded but the sun shines. I think this type of weather can best be summed up as a wrestle match: on the one side it's too hot to wear a jumper but on the other side it's too cold not to. So you constantly have to fiddle around -arm in, arm out- until you give up and sit around helplessly, with one arm in, one out. Or worse your jumper has turned itself into a smothering hump around your neck, and god knows where the arms are now.

So I'm sitting around helplessly, trying to find the arms of my jumper so I can fiddle it into another position and, while I'm fiddling, I amuse myself thinking about how I could possibly turn this into a blogpost. Because although I write flares of possible blogposts in my notebook daily, I recently find it more and more impossible to turn those flares into fire. My mum says this is because I take everything too seriously, to which I snort and definsively say "no, no, no, no". But perhaps she's right. Question mark.

On a roll

The other day I aimlessly browsed Twitter when I stumbled upon a tweet that proudly exclaimed: 'Just scheduled blogposts up to February 2019! I'm on a roll!', or something among those lines (I'm quite sure 'I'm on a roll' wasn't in fact included as that doesn't sound very internetsy). After staring at it for some time, I scrolled further and spend many precious minutes looking at cute dog pictures. However that tweet burned a hole in my (sub)conscious and, like a cigarette burn, when I came close I still caught a whiff of its implications. What to make of this?

That tweet bothers me, I think, because it represents everything I do not do. It shows consistency and a certainty in that what one produces. A preconceived knowledge on what is good and whether that goodness will still exist when its consumption is postponed. I think I write more in the moment, therefore making the goodness or pleasure of its consumption also momentarily. For me at least. Like the jumper around my neck, of which I have now found the left (or right, not quite sure) arm, I'm -what feels like- forever struggling to manage its position. Never sure how the fabric acts in relation to my body temperature. Never sure where my blogpost lives within the blogosphere.

Secret admirer

I find it almost unthinkable to be as organised and as sure of my blogposts to reach out to a new year already. Is that what they call evergreen content? Content that is shareable whenever, wherever, as it rings true from start to finish regardless of change within the world or within yourself. All I can think of is the potential choking hazard; there's just so much fabric you can fiddle one way before turning blue.

And still I secretly admire and wonder how I could become that tweet. How that tweet could be typed by my fingers, send by my thumb and seen by my eyes knowing I've accomplished such a thing. Taking a step back: I look from my flared nonsensical notes to my last blogpost published almost a month ago to my scheduled posts of exactly none. I start to sweat. Also, admittedly, because the jumper is now half-fumbled over my head, half stuck underneath my chin.


As if having a fever dream, I see my mothers lips part and move in slow motion: 'you take everything too seriously'. But perhaps I'm not taking things serious enough, mum! While I'm in the middle of wrestle-mania, others are singing happy new year in -I imagine- classy 1980s business suits, twirling their moustaches, looking down at us mere June 2018 bloggers. While they are heartedly laughing at the future, I'm knees deep in the present with the rest of me stuck in the past. Even when my jumper finally pops over my head and I'm freed from its tight grip, I'm reminded of this never ending cycle, as I hastily throw the jumper back on (it's getting rather chilly again) and count myself lucky if I even make it to the 26th.

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