posted by dave on Sunday, August 26, 2007 at 1:25 AM in category ramblings

I've tried, for weeks, to write an entry about context. And I've failed, for weeks. It's like I know exactly what I want to say, but there's a disconnect between my brain and my fingers. And so, instead, I write irrelevant drivel while the important stuff - the context - stays locked up.

Like right now. I'm pretty sure that something is happening that would piss me off, were I sure about it. I'm already pissed off even though I only suspect that it's happening.

I could list the details of my suspicions, but there'd be no point, without context. And it's context that's important. And it's context that I've been unable to write about.

Context, I'm pretty sure, is the most important part of any story. And it's eluding me, when I try to catch it as it scurries around inside my head. I know it's there. I can feel its presence. But I cannot describe it, or explain it, or write about it with any degree of legibility.

I'm pretty sure that, right now as I type this sentence, something is happening. Something that I do not like or approve of or understand. But the thing is, without context, people would be on their own to determine why I'm so bothered by this. And they'd all come up with perfectly reasonable explanations. And they'd all be wrong, because they'd only have the basic facts. They wouldn't have the context.

I started out tonight in a pretty good mood. Now, I'm right back to where I started. Irritated without fully understanding why.


Something has shifted inside me. I no longer have any desire to write about the mundane facts of my mundane life. Because only through context would those facts have any real meaning. And that context, as I already said, is eluding me.

There's a word that's been on the tip of my tongue for a while now. A word that I want to scream as loudly as I can, for anyone who might listening. I could scream that word. And it would have meaning. But it wouldn't have the right meaning, because there'd be no context to go with it.

So I won't scream the word, and I certainly won't write the word. What I'll do, instead, is think about the word over and over and over and over, every three seconds on average, until I fall asleep. Then I'll probably dream about the word. And maybe in my dreams I'll finally find the context that has eluded me so well in my waking life.

I find myself wishing with all my heart for something that I absolutely do not want.

That's very scary to me.

Because, what if I get it?

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