Wait For It...

“Good blog, how do I become a follower?” Said a friend by email concerning my first blog "Why Does It Hurt (So Bad)". It’s been 3 days and I have not come up with a new blog idea. Shame on you Writing Machine, shame. Watching the news to spark some idea of what to write about, calling friends to see what’s on their minds because obviously there’s nothing on my mind.

It’s ironic how we who have the gift always have something to say until it’s time to write it down. I personally work better under a deadline: too many years in Corporate America I suppose, a method that does not work well for me there either. Therefore, I sit here writing for the sake of writing hoping that the internal conversation will spark a subject. Wait for it…wait for it…

Still nothing, a frustrating place to be yet I am determined to be the next…darn, I can’t even think of a name right now. Okay, my mother always had great things to say, what would she say right now. Probably a long string of explicative words I cannot share in this venue, that’s for sure. She is the one who got me into this mess by telling me when I get frustrated to write it down rather than, well, throw something or cry or whatever the “tween” hormones demanded that day.

Wait for it...still nothing. Speaking of Corporate America, how about a poem:

Moody Tune

In a dreamy, dreary slumber,
I know that God has my number.
Looking toward that day of glory,
Missing today’s joyous story.
Flowing tears upon my pillow,
Head held low, as is the willow.
Knowing this night's not the one.
Day will break another’s come.
Blurry gloom looms round my forehead,
Slurry sloom room catches my head,
Slipping on today’s attire,
Removing hat and coat from wire.
Cheerful, happy all admire,
Plastic efforts I require.
Shining sun upon my brower,
Every step takes up an hour.
To the neighbor’s “mornin’” I scour.
What’s so good about my plight?
Running late so I take flight.
Morning Traffic, awful sight,
Hey!…passing lane is on the right
Building leaning over me.
Threatening, wont let me be.
Spinning doors, exit or enter,
Same Spring, Summer, Autumn, winter…
Never changing anything,
So in winter time I sing.
Silly little ridiculous thing,
And just like that my pep’s a zing!

So here I sit, still waiting for absolution. Maybe the next blog will be better. Thanks for reading.