This daily writing thing. Something you do over and over again. Not like some everyday tasks. Like peeing or those sorts of things. Those just happen when the urgency hits. No. The writing must be conjured. Coaxed. Manufactured. Invented.

Lately, I feel like I have been in a slump. For more than a month now. Boring. Hackneyed. Downright despicable.

I thought at first it was a mental hang up. You know, how some great baseball players who normally hit .333, all of a sudden can’t hit a baseball to save their lives. A glitch. Or it could have been that little mishap I had. I was hit in the head with a can of soda.

Yeah.  Good thing it was a soft drink.

Some people thought maybe if I got a little more exercise, it might help my writing. I tried to talk Mary into going to the gym with me. But she said….

“Do you have any idea why most couples do not go to the gym? It is because some relationships don’t work out.”

I had to find just what was causing this slump. And then a friend suggested that I change my diet some. They said I needed a greater variety of color on my plate. Wouldn’t you know?

As a result, I accidentally swallowed some food coloring. The doctor says I’m OK, but I feel like I’ve dyed a little inside.

Then, I was getting desperate. Maybe I needed a new hobby. This came to me while I was watching Crocodile Dundee. I would learn how to throw a boomerang.

At first, I couldn’t quite remember how to throw a boomerang, but eventually, it came back to me.

But that didn’t help. Perhaps a nice long walk in nature.   Then.  It started to precipitate.

I don’t know if I was hit by freezing rain, but it hurt like hail.

So for now, I am at a loss. My writing is tired and worn out. Sort of like a bike. You know. A bicycle can’t stand on its own because it is two-tired.

Until the next time, I bid you adieu. And, truly, I am thankful that my problem is not nearly as serious as some people’s. Like teachers.

Sure enough. I once knew a cross-eyed teacher who couldn’t control his pupils.

See you later.



“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
― Anaïs Nin


“My turn shall also come:
I sense the spreading of a wing.”
― Osip Mandelstam, The Selected Poems


“Often, it’s not about becoming a new person, but becoming the person you were meant to be, and already are, but don’t know how to be.”
― Heath L. Buckmaster, Box of Hair: A Fairy Tale