Rusty

I haven't been writing, not out of a lack of thought, but out of a lack of effort. I've had a million things about which I could write and gush and rant and study and bemoan and et cetera. But I haven't. And that speaks volumes about my own self, not about my subjects.

I've visited Thailand, which (in a laundry-list and very unromantic fashion) included riding elephants, seeing snakes, eating food, buying clothes, tossing coins, drinking wine, sitting on planes, and generally taking advantage of vacation time. But yet I haven't felt any compulsion to jot down a single word about all that. Years ago, my head was packed to the brim with thoughts and ideas and every thing I wrote down felt like a sad attempt to recapture some of the dizzying parade stomping through my mind. Maybe it's just a phase. Maybe.

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