A few days without writing, and I feel lost. Disoriented. Bereft of purpose. Even more, I feel ill. For me, writing is not only a need, but a basic one, as well. The most basic of needs, as a matter of fact. Like breathing. Like drinking. Like eating. The worst thing that could ever happen to me would be to be prevented from writing. As well as reading from what I have written already, which amounts to the access to my Residua. Luckily, that is unlikely to ever happen to me. No matter what, basic needs remain basic needs. Even a jail, the civilized sort of institution that is now quite common across the globe, allows the inmates to write, and often enough to read almost anything they wish. Jails now come equipped with libraries, no less. The most civilized of jails even allow the inmates to use the World Wide Web. And so I feel safe. More, I feel free. I feel that the world is not such a horrible place, after all.

Addendum I (September 23, 2015)

I can see quite far ahead, and I relish the gift, if that is what it actually is. But I have hard time figuring out how the future ahead relates to my own life. More often than not, my foresight is perfectly useless to me. And this piece is yet another example of that quirk with my gift. I cannot imagine anything worse than being prevented from writing, I claim, as well as reading from what I have written already. But then I conclude that this is unlikely to ever happen to me. How about dramatic climate change, though? Perhaps I could always find a pen and some paper to scribble on, but I could easily loose access to my Residua either on my computer or on the World Wide Web. For instance, days without electricity would be sufficient to drive me berserk, not to mention weeks or months without it. And the likelihood of such a calamity is pretty high, indeed. As well as ever higher. By the time I leave this mortal coil, the most basic of my needs may well become outright ridiculous.

Addendum II (May 4, 2018)

Well, well. The most basic of needs strikes me as rather outlandish so many years later. Having come across this piece purely by chance, I cannot but shake my head in disbelief. Which is why I read the piece and the first addendum thrice before deciding to extend it once again. And for good, I would hope. Well before leaving this mortal coil, the most basic of my needs has become nigh ridiculous already. Writing for the benefit of a few readers down the line is nothing if not ridiculous, indeed. The only reader I can be sure of in my dotage is myself. Whence this boastful addendum, as well. The next time I venture upon this piece and the two addenda extending it in the years to come, I am sure to crack a smile. From ear to ear, too. By then, the most basic of needs may well be reading rather than writing. As well as reading my own writings, I hasten to add. Surprise, surprise. Luckily, my magnum opus is nearing four-million words by now. No matter how diligent I become, I am not likely to read everything I have written in the fullness of time. Hooray!

Addendum III (November 26, 2024)

As I predicted in the last addendum, which was penned no less than six years ago, I cracked a smile as soon as I ventured across this piece of writing and the couple of addenda extending it. And it was entirely by chance, I hasten to add one more time. By now, the end of my writing project is in sight (see, e.g., “Thinking Ahead: A Note on the Completion of My Writing Project,” March 2, 2020). I cannot but wonder about my writing afterwards, though. The best I can do under the circumstances is to hope that I will be reading everything I have written till my last breath, as well as that I will relish penning an occasional addendum from time to time. Whenever I will feel that a few more words are really needed, I will feel free to extend my writings once again, no matter how far into the past they happen to reach. This will add up to communicating with myself over many a decade of my life. If anyone else also takes pleasure in my addenda, including all the citata that may strike me as necessary, this is of little if any concern to me at present. Returning to the last words of the last addendum, everything will depend on pure chance in the years following the eventual completion of my Residua. Given my advancing age, reading everything from start to finish, as I have managed to do three years ago, will have become nigh impossible by then (“The Highest Praise I Can Muster,” February 14, 2021). For better or worse, fortuna cæca est. Alleluia!