One Finger, One Thumb, One Beat of the Drum
09.07.14 (Day 199)
Diary: two weeks to view
One wrong beat is all it took.
Back when I had a Filofax, I’d have a day to two pages job. That was when I ran my own business. I don’t do that any more. But then again I do. It’s a shame other people try to run it for me, deluded that they know better. Please feel free to carry on. I shall do the same.
What follows is a summing up of the last two weeks, hence a two weeks to view diary, as it’s been almost a fortnight since I last posted.
I’m effectively imprisoned and limited by means but I’m resourceful. So that’s the finger: a finger to those who placed me here. You won’t get me; you won’t stop me. No-one can. I’m resilient as well as resourceful
The thumb is the one I’m typing with. 80 words per minute once upon a time, with a proper keyboard but reduced to a thumb for now. The hand-written notes are still around and in safe custody but after recent events, it’s best that they remain there. For now. I don’t need them and neither do I need the netbook, free wi-fi nor public access internet which all allowed me to do this. Now I have the means, by finger by thumb. I’m mobile, thanks to resources (I have plenty). And no-one need know where I am. Except those that matter and I’ll be the one to let them know.
So if this and subsequent posts aren’t as structured and eloquent in language and grammar as previous ones, it’s because I’m limited in means by circumstances. With the notebooks and netbook gone, what was once stream-of-consciousness in the former as I wrote, then edited on the latter but still heart-on-sleeve with incriminating bits removed is no more. Now we’re live and as soon as I type something and post without a care, it’s too late. Oops!
And I don’t care. I’m beyond that. Losing it.
I’ll fill in some gaps as I move around, having fun. Losing it. I already did.
I’m pissed off; on the move.
The drums of the jungle are beating loud. So is my broken pink heart. This is going to be dangerous.