As I open up this window, I still don’t know what I’m going to write. I’m trying to think of what I know, or what I’ve wondered recently. I don’t know what I know, and I haven’t wondered about a whole lot these days. Neither provides me with material that is ready to become public domain.
Yet strangely, I feel compelled to write. And I know, this is probably the point where you will stop reading, because I am babbling without a point. Sorry, about that.
But sometimes you really have nothing to say.
I could bore you all with the nitty-gritty details of my week. But it’s been uneventful. Some people crave uneventful. I loathe it. It leaves me with nothing to do, nothing to imagine and nothing to write about.
Soon, I’m going to turn this into a work of fiction. Stay tuned.
Yet strangely, I feel compelled to write. And I know, this is probably the point where you will stop reading, because I am babbling without a point. Sorry, about that.
But sometimes you really have nothing to say.
I could bore you all with the nitty-gritty details of my week. But it’s been uneventful. Some people crave uneventful. I loathe it. It leaves me with nothing to do, nothing to imagine and nothing to write about.
Soon, I’m going to turn this into a work of fiction. Stay tuned.
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