Where to begin.  That’s always the question isn’t it?  Sitting down to write immediately constipates the writing.  Unlike the times in the shower when thoughts come so freely and easily, or that surreal state between the first rays of conscious thought and full “get-out-of-bed-and-stumble-to-the-bathroom” wakefulness, writing when faced with the actual possibility of recording is suddenly stifled.

What causes this block?  Maybe it’s the act of writing itself.  Perhaps if an invention existed that could record thoughts and play them back, even if only for the originator, the flow of thought could be separated from the recording of.  The two seem to require such different mindsets altogether.  I suppose it is the hallmark of a great writer to be able to effectively and accurately capture those musings in some form, however neanderthal the technology, but I am no great writer.

I simply want to get things out, and there is some part of me that will not rest until it knows that a record of these things exist somewhere outside my head.  Only having the thoughts does not seem to quell the desire, for they resurface again and again.  Yet once the thought is out there, somewhere in “the wild” outside my own head, then it is laid to rest.

Of course no time passes before another and another thought swell up from the murky depths of consciousness, subconsciousness, and memory, demanding to be set free lest its threat of perpetual nagging be fulfilled.