The blackout curtains usually spilled a little light through the gap at the top, just above the curtain rail, but it was still black as night. I turned to my right and tapped the phone screen with the tip of my index finger. Propped in the edge of my open drawer unit for ease, it lit up the screen instantly.
04:03.
Black as night.
I laid for a while, wondering. Might this be it for the night? Could I drift back to sleep? Even though I was already comfortable, I shifted between my bedsheets to get even more snuggled and ready for slumber. Then began the writing within my head.
In the garden on Sunday, I’d been writing in my head, “I’m writing in my head again,” I called to my daughter as I tried hard to pull up a weed.
“That’s a good thing.”
“It is isn’t it, it’s been a while,” I said to her.
I laid, writing in my head. Feeling the double French braids pricking the side of my cheek, knowing a cascade of waves would generate smiles in the coming day. It would be a busy one this week. Those thoughts consumed me. Within a short while until I was back to writing again. A swirl of thoughts joined in, this time the sounds were recurring about a blog post I will write about The Bold Type, a series from Netflix.
Awake-dreams about the milk tray man sat in my head for quite some time. I tapped the phone again.
04:45.
Coffee was calling.
Might as well get up, I thought and reached for the switch on the salt lamp. As the orange glow filled the room, I unfolded my glasses arms and put them on. Somehow, I ended up scrolling on Pinterest. What do people want? What should we be posting? I mean, I know what I like to post and want to post. Often, they want travel from me. Sometimes that feels like a waste of my academic brain as I was in that industry way before I knew what a periodic table was. But if that’s what they want….
Sometimes, I just want to write those stories which are in my head.
My Instagram is fairly stuck. Youtube grows at a snail pace since the airports were grounded for non-essential travel. The books I write, do well to a specific audience. But how are we supposed to know? One platform favours the quick little reels, one favours 45-minute videos talking about the day.
Philosophy of life is consuming my workday at the moment. Of course, there is so much more to it but the experience of being a human is just my complete and utter obsession. What do people feel? How do they think? What makes them tick? How do they love? Have they been hurt? Writing about that might have a tiny audience, who knows, but what I do know is that it takes one person to touch one life and make a difference.
I’m over 50 now, with a belief that age is a number. I didn’t just start believing that because I'm over 50. I was more settled and grown-up before my first heartbreak at 18. Now, I probably float around 29 years old, with accompanying battle-scars and some clue into what makes life great.
Telling someone else how to make their life great, needs a little creative smocking. We can all do that, with some skill, but each of us is individual. What makes us click on a post, read it, love it, want more, digest and remember it: all different to the next person.
I lay awake in the dark of the night, writing in my head, hoping the sky turns to the blue of the ocean because the day is coming then, and I won’t be so afraid of going downstairs on my own. You might lay awake wondering what this year's crop will be like, or how Bitcoin is performing. You and I will be different.
Who knows what to post? Even the algorithm will change its mind one day to the next. There can only be one answer. Post what you want to post. Think about what you would like to see or read. Post that. See what happens.
