The blogger’s muse is a fickle goddess. Last night I had absolutely nothing worthwhile to say; not so much as a germ of inspiration. Tonight, by contrast, my brain is bombarded with volley after volley of ideas, all of which would take several pages to flesh out in full.
The greater frustration is that several times during the day I was hit with a blogging idea in class and didn’t write it down. Because I have the short-term memory of a moth with ADD, none of those ideas stuck, accept for a brief revelation about the nature of the plumage on most male birds.
My brain has done a 180 since yesterday. This is not too unusual, but the irony is that I have limited my writing time tonight in order to sleep sooner so that maybe, just maybe, I will feel prepared for tomorrow: instead of running in the afternoon, I will run in the morning, and instead of reading The Odyssey, I will be rehearsing for a speech performance. The topsy-turvyness continues into tomorrow—which somehow is only Wednesday.