Welcome to the skipped gear IQ, a series of posts in which I answer the imaginary question I will hopefully have thought of asking myself as I write the skipped gear IQ post you are reading, in place of anyone actually asking me any real questions, apart from the ‘Have you seen my glasses?‘ one I get at least 74 times a day.
Previously I have written many other IQ posts, which can be accessed from the categories widget that you can ignore over there somewhere >>
or by following the link here, although the stats page tells me no one does that either.
Normally, the paragraph that comes after the sadly forlorn beseeching for you to go off and read other posts on this blog –even though the one you are reading is unlikely to give you any cause or desire to do so– is just a delaying tactic to give me time to think of a question to ask myself. But, as the question occurred to me just at this very moment and before bothering with all that, this time it’s not, and we can proceed directly to today’s Imaginary Question without having to practise any pointless procrastination.
Although I do appear to have written a whole paragraph about it now anyway, so it’s too late.
Right, let’s get on then. An IQ.
IQ: I expected to ask you a question on Thursday. Now it’s Saturday. Don’t you have any sort of a posting schedule your readers can rely on?
Thank you for your question.
IQ: Whoa there! Come on, you normally have a haiku on Monday’s, IQ’s on Thursday’s, recently we’ve seen a ‘bot’ post on Friday’s or Saturday’s. Now it’s Saturday, so this one is late, and you’ve missed one of your regular features that’s normally here today… and what happened to the verses? Readers have sort of got used to a way of things happening, in some sort of routine…
Well look, it’s like this. Stuff happens here, or not. I think of something, maybe, perhaps I write it, perhaps I publish it. Sometimes I only have an idea about writing it but decide to go off and read something else instead and forget about it completely. One moment, a thought about a rhyming couplet that pairs ‘bulldozer’ with ‘brown noser’, the next, the siren call of an interesting looking article about NASA wanting to smash a satellite into an asteroid.
I might just note that rhyme down now I’ve written it here though…
If there’s a pattern, it’s probably accidental and it won’t last long. I am completely rubbish with routine. I hate routine. Life is not routine, didn’t get here by routine, and is only sought by those needing to tell themselves an illusory story of comforting predictability, to distract themselves from how not routine life actually is. Unless you are a robot.
The whole of life on Earth is not thinking, but just trying to maintain being alive, except humans, generally not worried about the night being so cold and not having eaten enough yet so it could kill them, but who have decided that today is Saturday, therefore it’s pizza for tea and football on the telly.
But I suspect you are imagining what readers are expecting anyway.
Actually, come to think of it, you are completely imaginary, so of course you are imagining it. Although I’m not sure if an imaginary question asker can also have their own imagination.
Do you… Oh, bollocks, I was just about to ask my imagination if it imagines things…