There are some moments when one comes to the computer to type, and finds nothing.
How can this be, I ask. Surely there is enough going on in my life - in fact, I know that there is - that would merit a post, a thought, an amusing anecdote? Yet there I sit, the cursor blinking in front of me, saying "Type something. Type something".
I wonder if my lack of typing is created from a true lack of material to type on or a kind of unconscious reticence to write about certain subjects. Not about others - I think long ago I gave up the ability to really concerned about such things, and have reached sufficient ability to speak generally.
No, it's reticence about myself, coming only during periods which seem to mirror when I've discovered either unpleasant truths or pleasant ideas which will require me to act on them.
We will not change until the pain of inaction becomes greater than the pain of action. Some really smart person said that (or words like it) once. How amusing (in a sick sort of way) that I keep getting reminded that it's true.