Blink/Blank

Mostly, I just stare, then blink, and realize there's nothing to write about. Scenes from my day, or my week, flash briefly across some blankness and then go away, just as quickly. I blink again and realize, once more, that there's nothing to write about. There's this germ of a writing project that's planted itself into my mind's soil that's been haunting me from time to time, though when I sit down to begin, I find that there's nothing there.

Even that last sentence was an afterthought (whose verity should not be discredited, however).

I should go away, one of these days.

Then I'll probably bring something back with me, something to tend that seed with.

Excuses, excuses.

Synching

Facebook status for the day: "why is the moon so slight,/ And why does it seem that as soon/ As I locate myself, I move/ Away again/" -from "The Insomnia of Izumi Shikibu", by Mookie Katigbak

(insert roses here)

As if copious amounts of coffee weren't yet enough, you fix yourself another cup while trying to recall in which movie it was that the girl said she could never be with a man who didn't know who Dostoyevsky was or was it really a movie or was the girl a girl you knew and you realize the girl was you and the thought leaves you pensive and staring at the roses

painted on the cup

Thursday has spilled over

to Friday and now, technically,  it's already Saturday and I am still awake. We-ell, there was a nap of an hour and a half in between, but it almost doesn't count. Not complaining, though, except, maybe, for the shoe disaster incident last Wednesday, which I plan to write a separate post on--oh, but that was Wednesday and we're talking about Thursday. And Friday. And, oh yeah, Saturday, too. Oh, but this week has been fabulously busy and fruitful and now it's time for a fabulously long stretch of slumber.

Good night, my dears. Or good morning, if you will.

(owl flown in from this site)