Intermittent

Regularity is just not my thing. I can be mundane, but apparently not regular as evidenced by the sporadic-ness of this blog.

Sparse posts about nothing, punctuated by voids of silence.

It's not that it's impossible to write (type), it's the utter unavailability of to form coherent "essays" and the inability to formulate a topic on which to discourse.

To complicate matters, I'm now expected to produce a composition for the Xaverian's Diamond Jubilee. No mean feat, when so far, in the eight months, since I was first informed, I've come up with one word, and that, I thought up just as I went to bed last night.

Makes me wonder, how those writers do it, churning out books and books thousands of words with no apparent effort. Perhaps there's some super-drug that pumps literary inspiration into their minds, or maybe it's a psychic wavelength that all good writers share, in which their disparate thoughts are shared, bouncing around the dimensions of all those interconnected brains.

That's just about the limit of what my befuddled brain can churn out for now.