Part of the problem
Part of the problem with blogs is that I know what I'm writing is going to the world. It's a problem of address. I could take some comfort knowing that no one, really, is reading this. But the place where the writing ago affects its shape. I find myself struggling to find out what it is I want to say, what I want to write. I know only I have writing desire.
Yesterday, for the first time in weeks, I didn't have something hanging over my head that needed to get done. I'd finished out the blog redesign, I'd filed my taxes, paid my bills, written letters of recommendation. Really, I was home free to spend my time researching. But I woke up late. I was too tired to focus on research. There were some pieces of the blog that needed tweaking.
I had played Halo from 10:30 pm to about 1:44 am, from the time I got off the phone with Amy until I saw the digital clock on the lefty's center monitor. This isn't what I want to talk about either. It's getting late and I feel I want to say or do something, but I don't know what that is. The desire feels diffuse, uncertain.
I'm tired of each day disappearing into the ether.
Another day confused.
Frittered.