A Lot of Nothing

I’ve been a dried-up old husk of a writer for weeks. So much so that I’ve been recycling material on the blog.

There have been ramparts, you guys. Strongholds and barriers between me and a decent idea. Hell, I’d even be satisfied with a nice turn of phrase peeking over the dam so that I could think on it for a while and turn it into something.

I’ve spent an absurd amount of time on You Tube, which is a rabbit hole of Wonderland-like proportions. If I find something I like, I play it until the dogs start howling, which, last time I counted, was at about 36 plays of Allen Stone’s “Taste of You” ft. Jamie Lidell. Then I think to myself, “Who is this Jamie guy?” and, well. Turns out he’s a nerd with a soundboard and an otherworldly talent. I don’t even like electronica, but I do like talent, otherworldly or earthly. I’m not picky where it comes from. This guy’s got it.

But these blog posts don’t write themselves. I told myself I wouldn’t get up from this post until I had written something passable, and my Fitbit has notified me twice that I need to get up and walk around. That’s two hours, guys, I’ve been sitting here while even my watch doesn’t believe I can churn out something.

Two hundred twenty-seven words. I will not un-ass this chair until I have at least three hundred.

I just ate a banana.

Two hundred forty-nine words.

Winston toodles through the dog door, covered in leaves and cypress needles, and I just cleaned the floor, Winnie!

I get up to get another glass of tea, and that satisfies my thirst, my Fitbit’s cries for activity and my need for another eight words so I can hang it up.