Would You Just... Not Board That Train?

Oh well guess what? It's even bloody harder to write today than it was yesterday. That malice serrated whisper of a voice is prattling away about how dumb last night's post was and how embarrassing and I've got nothing worthwhile to say and it's pointless anyway everything is screwed might as well quit now and blah blah bloody blah.

Well hear this, voice: we're doing it again, and again and again and also again and again and then again and again more and again and etc you get the picture, voice, so hey, how about doing me a favour, old buddy old pal, and fucking the fuck off.

- - -

Dog down road barking rapple rapple and clouds spread flat against bruise of sky and telephone wire doing lazy gymnast bounce as night draws in. Life trundling by. I'm in here bent to laptop, so small, really, not important at all, watching the Earth turn onwards.

Here's something: A thought isn't the truth. A thought is... like a train. Like a train coming into the station. One coming in now. "I'm worthless," the train says on the side, in big glowing letters. Everyone on the brain-platform hearing it coming in, looking at watches, going, Harrumm, yes, yes, the 20:16 from Anxiety-ville, right on time, running this service every three minutes for years, like clockwork -- and the passengers all go jostling up to the yellow line and the train grinds in and the passengers push on board, then train pulls out and rockets away through swaying fields of self-criticism, past Hopelessness Gorge, and on into backwaters of Depression Marshes, same as always. Journey bin taken so many times -- at first was just a horse and cart going a way that felt necessary, that seemed to make sense -- but now it's tracks, forty-carriage train, reclining seats, buffet car. Easiest journey available, comfortable routine. Only one problem: going dead straight to nowhere, over and over, thousand times every day.

But listen. Just because a train comes in, doesn't mean that train needs boarding. Can just watch a train arrive, watch it depart. Thunders off, into distance; wave at it as it recedes.

Thoughts come, thoughts go. They make a lot of noise, they clamour for attention. But they all depart. And you alone on the platform with a choice.

Always with a choice.

Here's another arrival. Not announced on the board. It's... a little fella on a wonky bicycle, squeaking slowly up.

"Not a whole heck of a lot of room on here, mister, and going sure ain't easy, but jump aboard, if you'd like."

"Well, where you headed?"

"As far as I can before crashing, I guess. Then I'll go again."

Sounds fun.

See you tomorrow.