Saturday

I'm always thinking about something. And sometimes I'm thinking that what I'm thinking might be the beginning of a good blog post.

When I finally sit my tired self down in the evening, I find the thought of trying to type out my thoughts, coaxing them into eloquent expression too daunting. And yet, all day long, they are bubbling, roiling, persistent in their desire to be developed from embryonic ideas into formed essays, like an op-ed piece Because to me, even the most trivial thought is like a tiny piece of an infinite jigsaw puzzle, unique to me, and representing who I am and how I interpret the mysteries of our world and our place in it. So, I'm going to try something a little different to try and capture the cool fresh running water of brilliance bubbling up from the fount of my brain in clay pots, discrete aliquots of moist refreshment delivered into the parched void of my blog.