Clean. Start.

My eyes are heavy. Literally. My eyelids gained a hundred pounds in the last 100 seconds and I am doing all that I can just to stay awake. They were fine five minutes ago, as I was completing the disassembly, cleaning, and re-assembly of the spare keyboard. I removed each and every key and cleaned it with Windex. I vacuumed the nooks and crannies. And then I put it back together again. Why? Is it because I’m a neat freak? Not likely - one look at the basement will relieve you of that silly notion. Is it because the keyboard was filthy? Not particularly. The keys were still white. I’ve seen keyboards where the collection of finger smudge is so great that each key is its own archeological dig. This wasn’t that bad. Was it because I’ve been wanting to clean it for years? True in a way, but it’s now a spare keyboard - why go through the hassle? I am offering to my future father-in-law, as an offering of sorts, a tiny dowry of sorts for his daughter. But that’s not why I did it. It’s a side-effect - “Here future father in law. In exchange for your beautiful daughter I offer you this five year old keyboard. It’s clean though!”

No, truth be told, I cleaned the keyboard because I didn’t want to be here, sitting down in front of the computer. Writing. Facing this cruel, unblinking screen, the white of the blank page mocking me, resisting all efforts to hold words. It’s like the screen is non-stick - any brilliant thought that I’ve had just slides right off. Pitiful.

But that’s also why this blog exists. It’s like faux writing. Faux publishing. I hit the publish button and it lands inexplicably on the Internet. But nobody reads it. So I can, without fear of falling, pour words out, let them glide out of my noggin, down my arms, into my fingers and into the keyboard. That’s this blog for me, and I thank you for not reading it.

Now that I’m warmed up, I’ve got a story to write....

If writing is so tortuous then why do I do it?