Words by me

I love writing. I really do. Provided I have something to write about, I could do it all day long. But there’s a problem with writing all day: you don’t move.

And the problems with not moving are:

• Bed sores
• Cardiac lethargy
• Thickened arteries
• Rusty joints
• Premature death
• Numb bottom
• Stale brain

I could go on, but I’ve made my point. I really hate how modern life is so sedentary. It feels wrong to sit still all day. Isn’t there a monkey to hunt? Or a tiger to flee? Or a rival to slaughter? Or women to… never mind.

Well, there are clear downsides to modern life’s conveniences. Most of us don’t have to do physical work on a daily basis, but the result is that everyone has diabetes, obesities, depression, anxiety and a vapid, soul-sucking obsession with celebrity (I just chucked that in for a laugh).

Digression

Anyway, I’m digressing slightly. All I really wanted to say is that writing would be even better if it were a more physically demanding task. Perhaps if my pen weighed as much as a baby, or if I had to chisel words into my laptop’s screen with a thick spoon, perhaps then I could write and get some exercise. Or maybe if my laptop was powered by a treadmill, and I could just speak words into a voice-collecting device which then made words appear on my screen (imagine!)… perhaps then writing would be perfect.

I’m reminded (for some reason) of France’s reaction to Sarkozy’s jogging. The French decided that jogging was virtually an act of fascism. So by combining my writing (rather left-wing) with physical exertion (allegedly right-wing) I end up split down the middle, between the wings. Or wingless. Like a dodo.

(Picture courtesy of Antmoose)