Turns on a Dime

Days come and go so quickly, but there are moments in my day that make my days seem strangely longer and threaten to shorten my life. I am refering primarily to those moments where brains fail and muscles muscle in, like yesterday when I launched into an inane argument about sports statistics with a friend. We were both being pig-headed about it and in the end we parted with sour expressions. Why is it that we can't just stop mid-argument and say, "Hey, this is just stupid sports." I can be having an incredibly productive day, sun shining, and blue skies but them a dime turn and I find myself skulking behind my computer monitor trying to hid from people and sunshine.

If the muse hits me I might put on some music or listen to an entertaining podcast to try and releive myself of the funk, but it still rides over me like a dark storm cloud. So to try and scatter the couds a bit, I have decided to try blogging. I have often found writing very catharthic, ever since my sister gave up her manual typewriter for a new Smith Corona. Pounding on the keys in the privacy of my bedroom empowered me in ways I wouldn't realize for many years to come. Looking back on that time I was rather prolific. Keep in mind this was before the age of the personal computer. A journal was a book that you kept next to your bedside or desk and you did not need a password to open it (perhaps a key). When making a typing mistake out came the noxious white out. I typed on onion skins and enscribed blank books with graphite, India, and dye.