This is one of those days when I should have plenty to say. I have input. I have life to place into words. I have teens growing into adulthood under my guidance. I have knowledge to impart, events to relate, life to muse upon. The world opens with all sorts of subjects to flow from my fingertips onto my screen and through the lines to your screen, but somehow, in this process, the subjects stall right behind the input acceptors before they get to the processing center of my brain.

The beauty registers, the pain registers, all the informations traipses through the brain at a leisurely pace, choosing to remain, at this place or that for an indefinite period of time, wandering about with no goal. Wondering about the other input. When did it get there, what is it doing, what does it mean. Never reaching the place where it's supposed to go where it will be useful, and often stopping anything else from reaching the intended destinations as well.

So I sit, useless. Wondering if I will be able to think coherently when I'm not working so much, or when I'm sleeping more. Wondering if I will be able to once again put pen to paper, or hand to keyboard and weave the words into the patterns I once had. Wondering if I will write....the way I'm supposed to...