As much as I am doing what I’m doing, I have no real idea what I’m doing, except I am doing it. It has become routine, especially in the morning.
I write, generally every damn day.
It is what I do.
Now, somedays, I’m doing it a little slower. We all have those days that require a little more time, or the ideas don’t come as fast as they should. Other days I am not doing as well as I should, but I still do it.
Write on.
Today it feels like it’s a little more on impulse, but I’m still filling space. That itself is one large statement that pushes the boundaries of the mind, so I’m going to let that thought sit with me for another day or two.
It’s that sort of a day.
It is not the brightest of mornings, the overnight rain is still showing signs of what was, but the forecast predicts it will only get better.
Couldn’t we all use days like that?
© 2026 j.g. lewis
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