wRiTiNg

Certain quieter moments afford me the opportunity to put what I believe to be my thoughts down. It's usually unplanned and after some sort of pathetic grappling with my procrastinating nature. It starts with a warm contentment usually...like I'm sitting on a heated blanket. If I can maintain, it's good.
Sometimes it moves to fast...the ideas and words whoosh by, and I struggle to keep up. Those times, I find myself looking back at what I just wrote fondly...but it's already stale. Too late to add to the idea.

In those moments, I feel less like a writer and more like some sort of echo stenographer...