Nothing from Nothing Leaves Nothing

I'm starting with a blank slate is all I meant by that title.

Just gonna plunk at the keys for a while and see what comes up and out and through. It might be best to run away screaming now, rather than hang around and see what's in store. I just don't know.

My creative spark is somewhat dampened by my daughter crying really hard in the next room. Her dad is in charge of her emotional well-being tonight. They are having some conflict. I guess conflict is the word. Anyway. That's going on.

That's not what I want to write about. That's what I don't want to write about.

I mentioned a few weeks ago that a black bird -- not a blackbird -- has been visiting our yard. Found out recently that he is a Black Phoebe. Bugcatcher. I enjoy his visits. I haven't managed to get a photo of him, much to my frustration.

Wow, everything that comes out, it actually feels crappy. There is a something feeling? in my brain about how utterly unsatisfactory this is. I'll just keep on keepin' on.

Cuz I just don't write enough. I write a lot of drivvel. Oh, this is drivel. Right.

My daughter who is not crying is reading Harry Potter.

I have this vivid resisteance to every topic that comes up. They are all so unsuitable.

I need a topic.

We want to get a dog. I can't pursue a topic. There is a little hatchet in my brain that chops off the head of any train of thought that tries to get going here. WHACK.

Is it the color of this screen?

That's the perfect red herring -- run up there and click "settings" and see if I can change the edit screen color. It won't be under "settings." I can check the FAQ. I can check the Help. I can google it. I can go round and round it. And then I won't be writing and time will be passing and then it wil be all used up and instead of the pain of seeing what drivel I have here, I can have the pain of haiting myself for not writing. Interesting (not really, it's just an expression) that I always choose the hate myself pain. I guess it's just more familiar to me. Less is at stake. I'm guessing. Seem like pretty good guesses.

The weather is a beautiful subject. One of my absolute favorites. How's the weather, we all share it, you can go there with anybody. And plus, I love weather. I love the sky and all the wild things it does. It's beautiful. I love the wind. I love the rain. Not crazy about that hot old sun, but still, it's good too. Sometimes the weather can seem like a kinda dumb thing to talk about. It's been done. But it is better than talking about ailments. I get stuck there sometimes too. Mostly, I guess, when I have to let folks deeply understand when, or if, my health has obstructed my commision of my responsibilities.

God, this is just putting me to SLEEP! Now I'm so sleepy. Oh, it will be so lovely to go to ssleep in aoubt 90 minutes. Sleep is another mundane thing that I just love. It also can be pretty inane as a conversation topic, when you get into how many minutes you got last night and using that to measure how you feel to day.... But sleeping itself is so delicious. It's just the most wonderful feeling. Out of body. And when you are aware of your body while sleeping, it's so cozy and warm and soft and relaxed. Mostly. These are of course, ideal sleeping circumstances. Not everyone has them all the time. I guess that's why most times sleep conversations are about what was lacking.

Most conversations ar about some lack or another, aren't they? We are rather whiney as a species. I'm extrapolating from the cultures I've been exposed to to human culture in general. Maybe I don't have enough data. Maybe it's just me. I could be the common denominator in all this don't-got-wish-I-had-itis. But I doubt it. I wasn't even alive and that Buddha guy addressed this. Desire and stuff like that.

My mind is becoming paralyzed. Or mushified. So want to sleep do I. Muchly. Only 9:00. Maybe this is all I can plunk down in this one spot. I think I'll go pollute another file somewheres elses.