Endless/Nameless

I should be writing. A focused writing, where I have a clear idea that I am fleshing out. I should at least be writing a draft – a draft of this blog.

But I am not.

This is a fluff piece, as I cannot get my mind to focus.

See, I did the family grocery shopping this morning, which took more out of me than I expected, and as I sit on the couch, computer in my lap… I just can’t get the act of writing to happen.

(This is a forced act. An illusion. It appears that I am writing something, but I am just running out the clock to get to 250 to 500 words in the next twenty-one minutes.)

I thought I could write about the politics of the current moment, or the never-ending gun violence that’s slowing making this nation callous to its horror. I thought about writing on health insurance, or public schools, or STEM programs for my kid. But none of the gripped me.

I started looking up what a new MacBook Air would cost me, as my current machine is ten years old and staring to show it wear. But that’s a thousand dollars I don’t have right now.

I thought about writing on the state of the job/gig market, as I still am looking for a side hustle to bring in some extra cash. But the more I think about that subject, the more depressed I feel.

And if we are going to talk about depressing, then I could talk about being a middle-aged guy who is out of work and is attempting a writing career. But that topic makes me feel really, really depressed.

I could talk about my lack of vocabulary as I get older.

Ear hair is a subject that I feel doesn’t get covered enough for men.

I could give this blog the name of a Nirvana song, but I think that would give me away as a 90’s kid.

I could write about how I have nine stories floating out in submission land, waiting for a response. I could speak about my system of sending a story out to five magazines at a time, and if it gets rejected from all five, I start the process all over again. But speaking about rejection isn’t that much fun.

I’m always impressed with people who can write about depressing things, but you end up feeling better about life. When I write about depressing topics, I just feel worse.

I know what I don’t want to write about. That’s a start.

I got a flash story I need to work on so I’ll go do that.

Thanks for killing time with me.