I just caught myself thinking that I might settle down with a nice cup of tea and watch the telly.
This isn’t quite as bad as it once might have been. I wouldn’t actually have been watching a broadcast on BBC1 or anything like that. I’d have been choosing from something on Netflix. Or perhaps iPlayer. But at least I would have been choosing what I watched unlike the old days when we watched what they wanted us to watch.
Shocked at my unconscious move to passive consumption, I thought about writing something here. In fact I thought about a whole load of stuff I could write. And then I got to thinking about my favourite old blogging fantasy. That after a hard day’s work, I would eat my dinner and then instead of watching telly, I’d sit down and write about my day, about the things I’d thought and noticed. Every day. Well apart from, you know, a few days here and there. But really that I would have that sort of routine, that sort of everyday life where you do things every day.
And I don’t really. Or if I do, I resist doing things every day in order to avoid the pain of having an everyday life.
So I opened up my laptop and then before I knew it, I was scrolling through Facebook. Which, of course, is just a very slow crowdsourced version of watching telly. And then I finally got round to writing something and this is it. No wonder I don’t do it every day.