blah. blah. blah.

I have sat down multiple times over the last week and started to write only to find a dead end. The words refuse to come, nothing flows. I start, stutter and delete. Here I am again. I think I realized the problem...I was trying to write about myself. Not what I think about...but about me. Apparently not one of my better subjects.

And here I am, stuck again.

No flash of insight.

No breakthroughs.

Nothing.

So why do I sit down to write? Habit? I don't know, there just seems to be something lurking in the recesses waiting to get out. It will come...eventually.