Not sure how this will work its way out from my brain to fingertips... This blog post, I mean.
It's one of those instances when most things I hold with confidence in lucid moments become murky--not depressingly so, but just in a jumbled, silly way. It likely has something to do with the fact that I'm tired. And it's late. Yes. But I still want to write. Darned foggy emotions and all. This could perhaps be a less than stellar choice: tomorrow morning might bite me fiercely for the decision to linger over this drivel at midnight. But who gives a rat's patootie? I want to write. So I will write. And I will make whatever inane, awkward, and/or nonsensical observations I please. Oy. Such is the nature of creative inspiration with the written word. One can't pick and choose when one receives the inspiration to write. It simply comes.
The presence of that inspiration, however, means nothing in the way of quality. So I may be inspired, but said inspiration might still be paired with extraordinarly scattered and pointless writing. In fact, I think that may be the case currently ;)
One brief note: I've spent the past two hours reading a specific author. And I am darn-straight copying said writer's style right now... Can you tell who? If you know me, you'll know who. Then again, why am I asking this? As if someone is reading this post, and possesses the requisite interest necessary to respond with an answer to such a banal question.
What if I ended this post here and now?