Clean this, Write that

I’ve been looking at that pink cabinet for some time.  Every time my eyes graze that spot, I would mutter to myself: “It needs cleaning.  I will clean it.  After…

But I don’t.

Because my mind wanders as my hands often do.  It will attend to dusting that wooden shelf; mop the stained floor; and – get the picture?

I still end up with a dirty pink cabinet.  Apparently, I have the same “fingerprint” on my writing.


There’s this good idea.  It appears to be a promising bud in the midst of a hazy train of thought.  I would catch and explore it through the usual practise of imaginative conconction – wherein I get to blend metaphysical concepts with real-life experiences.

Then I would “rewind” everything in my mind.  I always believe such ‘replays’ help polish ideas – awkward terms are replaced with appropriate words, and the meaning (that which I wish to convey) are weaved tight into the whole package.  Such tedious stuff occurs inside my head; this sure merits a showcase.

I would vow to write it.

But I don’t.

<is that weird?>


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