Give It Up Already, Man

by Tom Swift

I am tired of the sound of my own voice.

I have listened to me all day (out loud and inside this melon on my shoulders) and, frankly, I have not had much interesting to say.

By the end here, well, I slipped into a little something crabby.

My apologies to the ether!

And to the dude at the pet pharmacy who had to take my call after somebody messed up our order.

I have given out entirely too much foul energy in recent hours.

Will you forgive me? What if I say petty please?

With a special mea culpa to said dog.

I do want to write. This time is time set aside to write. I come to the cursor to provoke, to entertain, to inspire. Or at least wrap the brilliant ideas I started writing about this morning.

Er. Um. Something like that.

But I got nothing, Jonesie. Nuthin!

It’s not that I have no gas in the tank it’s just that I can see the fuel light on. And it’s flashing. Fast.

Pass the carbs. (No, I don’t care if I already ate pasta. And cereal. And blueberries. Not all together because … what do you think I am — a freak?)

Yep, pass the carbs — and the pillows.

It’s time for rest.

I can resume being better than this tomorrow.