It is my birthday today. I do not celebrate my birthdays but today is different. I am giving a special gift to myself: I am spending my whole day in writing. Writing for myself. I tried to remember when I did this the last time and could not. For a long time now, things I write for myself, I write them in breaks, in between-things, and always interrupted. Each time I did it, I loved it and felt so good but each time I had to stop it for this or that reason, or my self-defeating personality disorder.

So today, I am not writing a comment for a student essay, I am not editing a paper, I am not writing an e-mail for work or editorial duty, I am not writing a job application, I am not writing a text message, I am not writing a report, I am not writing a complaint to the Council or landlord, I am not writing on the classroom board to explain something, I am not writing an e-mail to my supervisor to apologise for missing my deadlines, I am not writing a letter to ask for a fieldwork interview, I am not writing to help someone. I am writing for myself. Words are only mine today. Perhaps bits and pieces for the Communist Laboratory or notes for my essay book… My brain will have only endorphine today. No pain. No obligation. No responsibility. Just pleasure. Pure and simple. I do not ‘serve’ a cause, a person, an institution today. I am the master.

PS: I am away from communication tools – phone or internet. Apologies if you try to reach me. But I needed this.

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