Today's UPI column was an agony. I don't mean to be melodramatic. It's just that writing is not hard for me. Not really. I can usually find hundreds of things to write about and enjoy the process of creation.
But this time, I hit not just a dry patch or a brick wall, but fell down an 80 foot well that was also dry and brick. I couldn't see my way out.
You know, I'm sick of repeating myself, of finding fault with what used to be beautiful to me. It's like the girl who spends every Friday night with her girlfriends whining about the guy she left. What's up with that?
And in the midst of my postmodern virtues series, I realized one of the virtues is not knowing what to say and saying so. There's value in waiting, in not pontificating, in recognizing my own limits.
So here they are.