Notes on Writing About Nothing in Particular

I was thinking about what I'd write here just a few short hours ago. I had a few good writing prompts circling (circled by?) the wagons, and a decent train of thought to carry one or two of them to the finish line. 

But, that inspiration came in the middle of another work day, and no sooner did I have something fairly concrete to focus on than those ideas began to swirl down the drain of cranial obscurity. I've also been so scatterbrained lately (lately?) that I guess any "good" idea I have at 930am is more than likely doomed to dissolve away by 1200pm anyway. Of course, it would've helped if I had jotted those ideas down, or if I were ever ever EVER in such a mind frame to transfer notions to paper exactly when they needed to be transferred. 

Arrgh. 

So here I am instead, scraping the depths of consciousness, trying to come up with anything to say on, well, anything. And I guess, for the most part, that has been the main driving mechanism of this exercise so far. But it would really help if, for once, I could grab something that grabs my interest, wrangle it, and shape it into digestible fare. 

Very aggravating, to be sure. But it appears that I am going to have to add actual notetaking to the exercise, an addendum habit that should come as second nature by now (I do take notes on things, I swear!) but which conveniently escaped my grasp by as early as 1149 in the AM. 

I guess it's ok to write on nothing in particular (AH, there it is), but I am somewhat disappointed that today's theme didn't make the transference (transmigration?). To be honest, I'm still working on pulling, yanking, it out of there. But the doors are shut and locked for the time being, and as unawake as I am at the moment, I sure ain't getting those suckers to budge anytime soon. 

{stick with the exercise}

Maybe it was a follow-up to the Arguing with Children screed. Or, a deeper dive into the What's So Special About Counsel's tract (which I totally would have nailed, by the way).  I mean, I have been following the Tweeters lately (to my disadvantage) and there have been some good points made about the actual usefulness of the latest investigative apparatus to drop from Garland's chickenshit hand (you don't really think he's a CHICKENSHIT, do you?).

(No. I guess not)

It does kind of sort of mute the carnival barkers complaining about DOJ overreach and post-presidential unfairness, which are not actually things but, you know, imagination is fun, isn't it. That could be a benefit. But it also turns an old man forgetfulness nothingburger into fodder for the scandalists and fabulists who crave nothing more than distraction and dropping abject bullshit into the churn. 

Let's just hope that it doesn't actually stop Smith and/or Garland and other assorted members of federal law enforcement from doing their jobs and prosecuting a malign turd into the ground and out of sight. Because, I don't know about you (no, I really don't), but I could picture something stupid actually blowing up this previously slam-dunk investigation and letting the shits and their crazy ilk to once again get away with it. Which, with the ongoing delay in real (gotta get away from the word "actual") progress on any justice-pronged front, seems to become more and more likely every passing day. 

But wait! I wasn't going to discuss anything in particular in this post. I was simply going to write. About nothing. And I went and fucked that up (again, most likely).

Oh well. For a few beautiful shining seconds, I escaped the directionless hammering and went an actual (dammit) direction. That was very rude considering the place I started and the semi-promise I made to stick with absence of theme on this go-around. But at least I didn't jump into something I really know nothing about, like the Royals or Gas Stoves. That would have been a travesty of text, I tell you. 

Any-who, I'sure I've gone on long enough to satisfy the digits and wrinkles. I've somewhat run out of steam, though I may be motivated to return after a few drinks this evening (ooo sexy).

Til Tomorrow (or sooner)