A blinking blank

I'm sitting here, staring at my blinking cursor and wondering:

Why am I doing this?

Writing has always been what I do to get things figured out, or to vomit all the words and sentences swirling around my skull and distracting me.

I like to play with the words; to move them around on the page to see their meaning or emphasis change, or to pair them up with others for similar reasons. I like comparing the common definition with the the original from long ago and I even like to notice the differences from US English to British English. I find it very interesting that Mr. Webster studied the latter to come up with the former and distinguish our new identity as American, not British.

Off topic. Why, right, why am I doing this?

So many thoughts go through my mind in so many forms everyday. I have a large collection of only some on scraps of paper from match book flaps to entire tissue boxes. I have had to pull off the highway to write so I could regain my focus. It seems though, at certain times of the day, I cannot write coherently. Not that it always matters, but when one sits purposely in front of a keyboard to compose something thoughtful, one should be able to focus and carry a thought through. Not me! My best writing happens when I am in a situation where I should NOT be writing.

So, here I am staring at my blinking cursor and wondering: Why don't I just go to bed?

Good night.



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