I rested my fingertips on the keyboard, like a masterful pianist awaiting inspiration. I closed my eyes and listened for the muses to whisper into my eagerly awaiting ears…listening for the songs of things so sweet their words had yet never been uttered before.
There came nothing.
The keyboard was abandoned, a fruit shake was created, and email was checked. Yet soon again, the blinding expanse of whiteness lay before me. Like a traveler through a white winter storm, I sought solace in my destination…the bottom of the page. Would I reach it this evening?
Probably not…the muses are strangely silent tonight.
Let them sleep, thought I. And I will follow suit.
And it’s only 9:15.