The folder with all my would-be posts is like a zombie cemetery. Hands of unexpressed ideas burst out of graves and try to wave me over. Meanwhile, at The Only Stupid Question, crickets and tumbleweeds…
I’m resuming writing directly into the blog. And I’m giving myself a time limit.
Hammy: “So what? Who cares? Why did you write that?”
Me: “Zip it, Hammy. I need to make excuses for my writing.”
Hammy: “You are a loser.”
Me: “I know.”
Hammy: “Grab me another bottle of whiskey.”