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Tuesday January 08, 2002, 10:27

Ladies and gentlemen, we appear to have a problem. It appears that through my excessive programming and otherwise non-creative pursuits (though one might argue that the area of programming and other technical computing has elements of creativity I choose to ignore this possibility for the moment) I have lost the ability to function on any sort of creative (and more specifically literary) level. To wit, the structure of this paragraph is lacking in the area of any one of the following: witty turn of phrase, deep emotion, irony. Perhaps not the last. Regardless.

Several months ago (though I am tempted to call it weeks in order to slow the passage of time ever so slightly) I had gone rock climbing and had found, much to my chagrin, that I was unable to move in any manner that would assist me in ascending said rock (or faux rock as the gym would provide). I had, in essence, forgotten how to form thoughts outside of what it meant to work. This has not happened to me in quite some time and I dare say that it panics me to such an extent that I become more and more agitated and my mind is again unwilling to for anything resembling emotional phrases (or sentences, paragraphs or otherwise).

One would have assumed that a walk through a cold rain or the recent departure of a girl from my life off to distant lands would be cause enough for verbiage to come spewing forth from my fingers, the weight of the world bearing down on me in every which way, too much to bear, stream of consciousness eyes drifting off to sleep remembering times so recent and similarly distant. One would think. It has not happened this way, though. Instead, I sit at my desk and stare at an endless stream of dollar signs signifying nothing more than the representation of a stock_ticker (the underscore relevant in this situation) and worry about concerns of the so-called "adult" world; taxes and invoices plague my life.

And ignoring that, the guilt of not working while being expected to sits with me and I am forced to quit and return to the life that has stolen my will to write.

I depart, trailing with me a hearty dose of melodrama, for good measure.

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