Appearing Here This Morning Only Because the Discipline Demands It

Little office heater said that the Sanctum was 44ºF when I turned it on this morning. Currently, 64ºF. Go, little heater, go – warm my chilled heart.

Facing down the horror of having nothing to say this chilly morning; the blinking cursor mocks. Feeling that this could be the first time in this particular volume of 18,065 daily words that I throw my hands skyward and say fuck it, I've got nothing to share with myself, nothing about which to talk to myself – but here I am and here's this space and it's my job, in these 25 minutes, to fill it – for better or for worse.

Not to say that there aren't thoughts bandying about in my head, there are – why I don't read op-eds anymore (they all say the same thing and provide little informative value); why most of the music I listen to these days is ambient (because it's devoid of rhythm and words and sounds nice): they are thoughts, yes, but as yet lacking a life of their own – maybe I'm just not in the mood to explain anything, or maybe they're just not worth pontificating upon. I'll tell myself that's it.

But here I am and here's this space and here are words to sate the beast of the discipline. Eat up, beast, from this chipped fiestaware platter of exiguous table scraps. On with the day, then, as the blinking cursor mocks me – but at least I like its shade of blue. Pretty.

65ºF – no, 64º... 67º...A Morkie demands to venture outside.