Writing is therapy and my greatest escape. It is a form of laxative for pent up feelings, thoughts, convictions and emotions.
A few minutes ago I had a few ideas as to what I might post on Wrights Lane today...I could write something about my health situation, or continue to wax eloquent about life in social isolation. Then again I could offer a few words of spiritual inspiration as we move closer to the observation of Easter. The thought of creating something humorous also crossed my mind as having timely relief potential.
I even went so far as to commit possible opening sentences for a couple of subjects to a computer file.
Then I hit an inspiration block. I sat pensively with my fingers locked on my chest, elbows resting on the arms of my desk chair and starring at an otherwise blank monitor screen. The creative well was dry...I could not come up with anything meaningful and the urge to force the issue mercifully finally abandoned me.
After a good 20 minutes of nothingness, I decided to put an end to the agony.
Sorry, I have nothing to say...Know what I mean?
Maybe tomorrow the spirit will move me. I've got nothing but time on my hands these days to think about it!
Meantime, that's take "30".
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