Lloyd Davis wrote a post this week about Morning Pages, the daily practice of, first thing, writing three A4 pages. Jed Baxter was prompted to go back to 750 words, an online tool for writing everyday, and fashion Life,get one! and Winston Alden ruminated on Writing, Privacy and the Chilling Effect of Surveillance - Is Someone Reading Your Diary?.
All three posts had interesting comments about to write or not to write and the potential consequences of each; and the dilemma between, on the one hand, expressing yourself, who you are in all your complexity, and, on the other hand, being seen, possibly for who you are and possibly for some version of yourself at that time and in that place.
At the other end of the day is the night time journal, written last thing before bed, that reflects on the day just past, with a sort of Glad that I live am I emphasis.
The thing seems to be to write.
Sometimes life seems to settle into a regular pattern, each day flows and has its own place. Recently, taking a four day a week job, it took me a week or two to realise that Monday was all mine. A bonus day, belonging to no one but myself.
It naturally followed that Tuesday and Wednesday were heavy lifting days, for thinking, researching, writing. It helped that I was only going to spend one day a week in London, in the office. That became Thursday, because staying overnight in London on Thursday is one of the cheaper nights, available, at times, for only £30 and cheaper, even with breakfast, than travelling back and forth (to say nothing of the time).
I find travelling very tiring, I'm often at low energy, low ebb, the day after travelling. It made sense to move travelling towards the end of the week, leaving Friday, fag end of the week, perfect for Tidy Friday - cleaning up bits and pieces, clearing my bag of receipts and tickets, the desk of sundry papers and thick, hand-written notes of meetings and half-read newsletters, my inbox of messages, old, new and pondered over and, finally, after this weekly spring clean, my brain, refreshed and feng-shuied for the weekend.
Because, of course, the end of Friday is the end of the working week!
I made a mistake with the first few Fridays, working until the last moment (about six o clock) before leaving for the brisk walk from Caledonian Road to St Pancras. The thing to do is to leave by 4.30pm so you get this sense of school's out and a burst of energy and exuberance as you head into the weekend. The last Tidy Friday, I timed it even better, leaving the office by 2.30pm and catching one of the last afternoon off-peak trains from London, leaving the city while it was still light and arriving in the Midlands by the magical finishing early maybe see you in the pub half past four.
That time of walking home, knowing day is done and you are free for your own time, to look in shop windows, think about what you want for tea, watch the world going its way, hurrying and scurrying, and the new Arriva bus in its purple livery and very brightly lit destination signs (free wifi and usb charging points) purring its way reassuringly to your very stop.