I’ve been sitting in front of my display staring into an empty sheet of cyber-paper, fingers trembling above my keyboard in literary anticipation and…
…nothing came to mind.
So much for trembling fingers, anticipation or not.
It’s not as if there hasn’t been things happening in my life worth writing about (there most certainly has been), it’s the annoying fact that these happenings of late are not the kind of events that I should really write about. Not unless I wish to make these events worse than they already are.
Very ironic. Lot’s of stuff to write about but not the kind of stuff I can write about. Unfortunately, everything else going on pales in comparison to the equivalent of putting gas into my car. Not exactly fodder for the masses (all 5 of them).
And, of course, these events that I can’t write about involve people. What else?
The problem that occurs is that these people I refer to can most likely read or at least I assume so. Actual comprehension is another matter. Now I could be completely wrong but I’d rather not take the chance of illiteracy on their part. Also, there’s the off chance that they actually may have stumbled upon this old blog of mine and take the time to check in once in awhile just to see if I’ve written anything concerning them. That way they could get upset about it.
So I’ll just leave it be for now.
I suppose you’d tell me, if you were sitting here with me instead of reading this from afar and actually knew what the hell I was not writing about, that this is one of those situations I’d laugh about later on. Well, that may be true but I can tell you, it would not be a wise thing to say to me at the moment. Not if you didn’t want to find yourself dangled out a 2nd story window by your feet.
So, there you have it. Sitting here in front of my display with a blank slate ready to be written upon and all these things I can’t write about–I couldn’t think of a thing to write about.
So I wrote about it.
Sheer genius if you ask me.