I am writing because I’m feeling angsty about not writing sooner.
Today will be a day full of writing in fact, but I debated two moments ago, whether I should put off this bit of writing in favour on a different bit of writing that needs to happen later – but only if I get this bit of writing written first. I worry the well may run dry if I pour my words too liberally over this bit of prose.
Of course, this bit of prose requires only that I pluck freely from the low hanging fruits of inspiration. I may even tap some of the fermented bits of fallen fruits laying upon the ground.
Laying? Lying? I should look up the correct usage sometime, but alas, the keyboard doth call.
That other bit I writing I was on about earlier, requires a deeper, more sustained effort. Those words will ring far more important than these words. They matter more, so I will put them off further until I have sufficiently psyched myself up to reach for ’em.
These words are like the warm-up words. I’m getting ’em out of the way so they won’t be in the way when I need to focus on clarity, and precision, and thoughtful thinky words of composition and formality.
Thus far I have communicated nothing, and have taken seven minutes and twenty-three seconds to not say it.
I now debate whether I should continue this exercise or hit the shower. Clean body to tackle the dirty business of word-smything.
I’ll let you know what I decide.