Free writing

Have you ever written with no particular reason? Writing for the sake of writing; writing as an end in itself? I have never partaken in such tomfoolery. It seems so childish and meaningless, to do something without so much as a forethought. Till as of late, everything in my life has been following a sort of grand design. These things needn't be meticulously thought out; I've never been one for to-do lists or vision boards, but they do follow a rough sketch of the important parts of life and how they must unfold in the foreseeable future. These things have always more or less turned out all right, maybe sometimes in ways slightly disappointing than I would have wanted, but never enough to bother me much.

God, or whatever entity you think is responsible for these things, seemed to have been kind to me in these matters. I took it upon myself to reflect on these good occurrences I’ve had in the past, perhaps in an effort to give myself hope of such times in the future, but I ended up with a rather dull conclusion. Things had never quite turned out the way I wanted. I just did not care enough about them to be disappointed. Now it wasn’t the realisation that all my apparent satisfaction was a facade hidden behind indifference that hit me hard, it was the fact that I realised it is still the same. I tried to imagine any single aspect of my glamorous life being removed suddenly. Nothing seemed too unsettling. My thoughts of losing things seemingly important to me were not met with any sadness or upsetment, but I was instead more focused on the logistical difficulties of the issue. I would hate to lose my education, all these books would surely fetch a much cheaper sum second-hand; I would hate to lose my house, think about how many boxes I’d have to pack; And god forbid I lose a family member, who could sit through those tedious rites?

All my exaggerated doom, gloom and spiralling aside, my life feels quite analogous to free writing as of late. As a result, I’m probably going to be doing a lot more of this. I feel I’ve placed far too much emphasis on order and rationality. I mean, it's fine for debate and science and other such activities, but I’m probably better off not continuing in this uninteresting sterility. 

"It was as if that great rush of anger had washed me clean, emptied me of hope, and, gazing up at the dark sky spangled with its signs and stars, for the first time, the first, I laid my heart open to the benign indifference of the universe. To feel it so like myself, indeed, so brotherly, made me realise that I'd been happy, and that I was happy still. For all to be accomplished, for me to feel less lonely, all that remained to hope was that on the day of my execution there should be a huge crowd of spectators and that they should greet me with howls of execration." 

I do not care for Camus’s absurdist freedom, but this does sound oddly peaceful.