I got caught by the procrastination bug. I am now just sitting down to my keyboard. It was easier to delay than fight my lassitude. Now time is running out. It is a must or bust. Can I write something out of nothing? Things seem to work better mornings. I work better mornings. My head is better, free of the day’s debris. Why is it that I don’t do my writing in the morning?

Though I can face a blank index card, draw and paint a picture, it’s harder with works and a blank screen. So I dilly dally, fooling, telling myself I will get to it after this and that. By the time when I’m finally here, the ideas and thoughts I had are gone. I am left scratching my head, moaning ‘why didn’t I do this sooner.’ It is worth remembering that old wise saying ‘No use crying over spilt milk.’

I am not crying but feeling rather ‘unfriendly’ and ‘unpleasant’. It is apt that I’m sitting here sipping bitter melon tea. It is pleasant and cool out here on the deck and still fairly light at 9:30 in evening. I shall sit here with the evening and listen to the Saturday night traffic for awhile. Though it is frustrating, I do love the struggle of writing. What a miracle it is to have words to spill onto the page/screen. They can paint pictures and feelings. They can tell stories. Where would we be without them?