On the chance that you haven't noticed, I'll admit that I’ve been a little lackluster with my writing for the past several (several) days. I can blame a dull, foggy head for part of it, but also the normal ebb and flow of inspiration. Which is probably why most people who write a blog don’t post every day. But here I am, writing every day: the awesome, the crappy, and the mundane.
I knew going into it that it wouldn’t be easy, but I was a little unprepared for other obstacles besides an absent muse. Like having way too much to do on a given day—on top of nothing to say. Or being in a foul mood and not wanting to communicate with anyone one any level, even in the virtual world. Or having an excellent idea, but not having the mental sorting technique to form it into a cohesive thought or the patience and restraint to hold off until I am able.
As a result, this space has become much like an open diary, where I un-dam my stream of consciousness. Where waves of thought ripple over tiny stones of insight and bubble past pebbles of banality. Where I sometimes over-wet the shores with fantasy and other times recede to the point of parching the soil.
I don't mean to say that I'm absolutely disappointed with where it's taken me. It’s just not quite what I was expecting. But hey, what is?
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