Morning with Internet New Age

My insomnia had me wide awake at 4 AM. Shortly after I'd read some of the NYT online and drunk my first cup of coffee, I read this at I Cite.

I've lost a sense of why blog.

Perhaps it is a 'thinkers block.' This is rare for me. Usually, I have ideas. I know what I want to try to understand, try to think, try to say. Right now I just feel trapped, unclear, lost in a lack of understanding.

And, I feel guilty--for not responding, for not having ideas, not being able to contribute. And, I think, what's the point? Why bother? There is a world of thinking and speaking and discussing out there.

The city is still asleep, and I am trying to write something, anything, if only this blog.

The novel sits on the floor beside the desk. Tomorrow is the day I promised myself I would make the call on whether to send it out or not. I lack the courage to make the decision. I know the novel is not good enough, yet I don't want to admit that the time I spent writing it was in vain. I long to escape this seemingly trivial decision. Is that why I have an Internet New Age radio station playing on the laptop?

I have a new idea for a novel. That is the one I want to think about. I record my ideas, a nascent pastiche for a novel.

And my public blog? It's lately been even more trivial and banal than usual: sports, trivial math, a few memories, the stray thought, and a few failed attempts at seriousness, all of it silliness. Of course, I can sit in the local bar for several hours and listen to a huge cacophony of silliness either genuine or disingenuous, yet not think it time wasted.

"Ariel was glad he had written his poems." Wallace Stevens from Planet on the Table

"The trick is not minding that it hurts." Peter O'Toole from Lawrence of Arabia

I am a fool. My blog exposes me to the world.