I have absolutely nothing to write about. Nothing. Nada. Zip.
Because of this, I decided I would sit down and write about the first random thought that popped into my head once I was faced with the dreaded blank screen and blinking cursor ‘o’ doom. But nothing popped into my head. I am so fixated on how I have nothing to write about that I can’t even manage to have a random thought. And so, I am sitting here … in the semi-darkness of my office … waiting (not so) patiently for my child to get her act together and get into bed … thinking about how I screwed the pooch with regard to hitting “bedtime” in a timely manner tonight … reminding myself that getting the extra piano lesson done and feeding the child and dogs still counts as a victory in life … feeling the pounding of a monster sinus headache (thank you very much Sinus Infection From Hell; no, really!) … listening to the clickety-clack of dog nails on my hardwood floors … thinking I really need to trim those bad boys … not wanting to trim them because it always leads to embarrassingly histrionic displays of melodrama (mostly on my part) … wondering if my child is actually EVER going to go to bed … debating over just how it can be possible for one small person to make noise during their every waking hour … thinking that, really, she is like a perpetual motion machine, but for noise, instead …
And writing about how I have nothing to write about.
It’s a weird feeling, having nothing about which to write. At first, I thought my brain was completely devoid of ideas or thoughts or … well, anything of meaning. You know, like an empty, coconut-shaped thing that sits on top of my body and takes up space for no good reason. Now, though, I realize it’s more that there are too many things rattling around in my head. They are all jumbled up together into a confusing mess of irritation and annoyance, leaving me with that deer-in-the-headlights feeling.
Today has been long. I don’t feel well. I have a terrible headache. And it seems that pretty much everyone in my family (dogs included) has decided, at one point or another, to stand on my very last, quickly-fraying nerve. My dad used to tell me that. When he got really pissed at me, he would tell me, “Little Girl, I’ve got one nerve left. And you’re standin’ on it.” I wondered about it as a kid. Now, as an adult, I know exactly how it feels.
Anyhow … today is drawing to a close at last. My Springer Spaniel is trying to climb into my lap as I type this. And tomorrow is another day. Perhaps I’ll have something to write about then. One can only hope.