Flood

Rise and shine and I’m greeted with a torrent of data. 65,536 lines from A to IV. Maybe it’s the rough draft of my magnum opus, the great American novel, my autobiography. A hundred witty retorts to arguments long since forgotten, answers to childhood questions, solutions to puzzles, the question to last night’s Final Jeopardy answer. A to-do list I’ll never see the end of, a shopping list of things I don’t really need, the final ingredient in that recipe I’ve been working on. A letter to the editor, an op-ed piece, another article 2600 won’t publish. A poem, a song, a bumper sticker, a snarky tee shirt. A week of blog entries, a forum post, a Wikipedia correction. An amicus brief, a scathing missive to my congresscritter, a reply to an email I’ve been leaving in my inbox.

Shake the mouse to stop the Starfield Simulator, open up a new text file, and sift through the wake. The flood recedes and I’m left with…

Writer’s block.

Published by Brian

Grappling sometimes, but mostly just trying to get others to grapple.

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