Scattered.

Scattered.

I need to do a better job of either carrying a notepad with me to collect writing ideas. I always have my tankPHONE, but sometimes (often) whipping out a notepad while talking or in a meeting appears far less intrusive then typing away on a phone's keypad. With the phone folks don't know if you've just entirely checked out and are either surfing email or texting, but with a notepad if a flash pops in the back of that cavernous brain you can jot it down without interrupting anyone's flow.

Anyway, I know there's lots of stuff I've been wanting to write about but for some dang reason -- maybe I'm just not feeling it this early in the morning this particular day? -- none of it's filtering to my fingers. I mean I could go on some screed about this, that or the other, but honestly man, nothing is really stirring my cauldron at this second. There's all the usual stresses (money, Betty the Beagle, work, hoping my leather coat gets back from the tailor's before it gets much colder, getting my passport renewed in time for a trip to Jamaica that's coming up) but nothing out of the ordinary that I can't handle.

So let's take the glass half-full stance and accept that on this particular day, at this particular hour, having nothing to really write about means my life is going OK at this second and maybe I should just enjoy this moment instead of worrying about filling it with words.

Good idea.