nothing

It's a fine line down the slippery slope that separates doing from did or intended or used to back in the day. Out of the habit, I am struggling mightily to write here. The back side is littered with fragments of thoughts, incomplete drafts, the detritus of can't-quite-make-it-work. I try and fail, try and fail, try and fail. And yet, I have not quit, though you'll have to take my word, being nothing here to prove otherwise. I suppose this is strategery 432, writing about not being able to write in the hopes that it leads to writing. Not yet, anyway.