Sometimes I don’t write because I think I don’t have anything worth saying.
Sometimes I don’t write because I don’t want to sit behind this computer for another minute.
Sometimes I don’t realize how many minutes, hours, or days have passed since I last wrote anything.
Sometimes I don’t write because I can’t get the thoughts organized in my head. I start drafts here never to see the light of day.
My spaghetti brain starts to noodle so many thoughts and ideas and then they leap together and morph together into a completely different thought and idea and next thing you know I have nothing but a mess of an Italian kitchen in my head and not even a garlic breadstick to show for it.
And then for some reason that spaghetti brain lands on William James. Which jumps to Virginia Woolf. Which jumps to streams of consciousness. Which reminds me the brain is a beautiful thing to waste. Which takes me into the frying pan. Which reminds me of my Fried Egg Award. Which reminds me of my board president Kevin Thompson. Which reminds me of his nickname for me which is Etch. Of which I will get back to.
But for now I need to throw down some thoughts in a stream of consciousness. Even then, I’m not sure which one to start on. I’ll just grab some end of a noodle and ride it. And I might just stay in this mode for the next week to act as brain dump or a sandbox or just recognizing I have no control over how other people respond to what I have to write. I only know I need to write sometimes. Not to be profound. Not to solve the problems of the world. Just to talk out loud.
You’ve been given fair warning.