I feel like I must write, say something.
What I am sharing with you is an idea, a line from a short story I started yesterday lunch time when my mind was whirring with work and the self made stress of it all. I felt better afterwards. The story is provisionally titled I’m finished. In shadows we find hope.
‘I live their evenings. Each of us worn thin, not by the work, but the disconnection from anything valid, anything real.’
I never finished this story. Perhaps because I lived many more of those evenings working a job that wasn’t me, just because it paid our mortgage etc. I am now free of that work and despite the invisible grief more connected to myself and life. Though this idea of disconnection still concerns me, as it feels that due to disconnection we have shaky foundations on which to create a life that is alive, that is unique to each of us. Instead we exist and all sorts of disillusions and lies bubble up through the cracks and fault lines appear throughout society. This is a generalisation, as it won’t apply to all, but my sense is it applies to too many and that is a great shame.
Posted: 3 April 2019