For this post I have run uncharacteristically close to deadline. I post every day in some sort of compact with myself that I only half understand. Often enough I have three or four or five posts all lined up to release at their appointed mornings, but as I write now, I have only this to go out into the world in less than ten hours. You see a full post, but all I have is these first few sentences.
All day I knew that my ribbon of writing time, at 10:30 at night, now, was my only chance to make my schedule.
So throughout the day I thought about what I might want to write. I thought of it while stretching, as I got out of bed. I thought of it while frothing the milk for my wife and I's morning lattes. I thought of it lying on the couch, between reading sentences of the book I was finishing (Battle Royale). I thought of it stumbling through the frozen, snow besieged city on foot, and I thought of it looking at the impossibly beautiful ice covered trees. I thought of it juicing oranges, and I thought of it moments ago, lying in the dark just before I came down here to write.
Each time was something different, a day of blog posts. I don't really remember any of them. How many thoughts do we have a day? Ten thousand? A hundred thousand? The blog post thoughts are lost in there amidst it all. I, if I foraged hard enough among my memory, could probably pull out a few good ones. But I don't need to, for I have this, and I am done.