SRF Heavy Industries

Instead of typing, I’m drawing little glyphs on the picture of a keyboard with the point of a finger. It’s still a fair bit slower than typing and stresses said finger a bit unnaturally. I could be faster with it. I can tell that. And more error-free. With practice.

Maybe I’ll eventually replace my bluetooth keyboard so I can get back up to speed. Or maybe I’ll slim down how I write so that it all works on a minimalist phone thingy.

It’s like drawing sketches with a pen. Editing is next to impossible and the temptation to revise vanishes when you can see only two or three sentences at a time.

Is the first pass really more honest?

Regardless of the little toy I have in my hand and what I have to do with it that passes for writing, the future is still not here. This is still not the future I’ve been pushing for for a decade.

Still slogging.

When I’m tempted to ask myself when everything ran off the rails, I have to remind myself that there never were any rails. I’ve been offroad since graduating high school. This isn’t a railroad. Or any kind of a road. This has been machete country the whole time.

I wrote this piece a year and a half ago, and that’s what it feels like. I’m slogging through machete country, been here forever, don’t know if I’ll get where I’m going (wherever that is) or get back home or even just survive, and I can’t get past the feeling that maybe I’m just a block or two away from the mall where I parked my car.

Hack, slog, hack, slog, hack, slog.

How’re YOU doing?

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