Searching for That Wild Eyed Elusive Creature, My Muse, Whose Greatest Joy in Life Seems to be as Slippery and Evasive as an Eel in Hiding

Sometimes it seems as if something conspires to keep me from writing, even a sentence or two, for just as soon as I sit down at the computer, my mind goes absolutely blank. Of course, I know that's all in my mind and that there are no outside forces which are determined to keep me from writing just because they are afraid that once I sit down to write that what will flow from my fingertips is going to be incomparable, breathless prose, which would threaten their very existence. Although I guess it might at that, for it certainly would threaten the very existence of boredom and a feeling of inevitablity and futility and sameness of being that exists as long as I sit here with my fingers poised above the keys, staring blindly at the screen, hoping and praying for just one word, any word that will get my mind and fingers to work together in a synchronized movement that flows so effortlessly that I am slightly breathless when it is over.

Although what comes forth from these fingers and my mind could and should be outstanding and has almost reached that peak of perfection at times , but most times it is just an everyday mundane effort to put my thoughts into some kind of order which is difficult considering the absolute chaos that reigns in my mind most days. better than nothing I suppose but I want it to be something powerful that will make people sit up when they read it and either laugh or shake their heads in recognition, as if to say, 'I know that feeling.'

Of course, I am my own worse critic and so when I sit here, some great idea may just be simmering beneath the surface, trying to give voice, but for some reason, I refuse to admit that it might actually be of interest to anyone but myself.