Pebbledashed
A piece, hewn in exhaustion
I’ve been unwell and will be for a while yet. I’ve had semi-downtime (I have beautiful young responsibilities). The “rest” was formal leave from my PhD for a week without any deadlines. Next week, I must claw my way back into writing and meetings. Some are blissful things like informal philosophical talks over Zoom. As a remote student, such connections are golden; I don’t want to lose them. I’m also scared I might detest my thesis writing when I look at it next week. I feel like wielding a hammer to my words this week. So, to soften my blows, I decided to jump into my oubliette of draft posts here and make myself publish a few. Even if they aren’t perfectly hewn things.
Pebbledashed.
I falter, wrecked and ruined on a blank page. Once beautiful inside – my mind was a palace of words, Now, at most, a rubble. I fritter these fingers, around pebble around pebble around pebble. I fumble these hands, around stone around stone around stone. I find this heart, a square boulder. This cornerstone inside – A rugged ballast for words, Now, at least, a babble. A pillar, not yet a tower.
