What follows are senseless ramblings, even more so than normal. Enjoy.

It’s thicker than worms worming through the glacial journey of the last movement of the world. Moving fingers to say nothing. Coherent thoughts not coalescing. Where are the last of the tines that rise off the righteousness? I always return to that word righteousness when I’m spouting nonsense. I wonder what one has to do with the other.

I was delayed for a moment while I find the right word. I didn’t find it. I substituted nonsense for it. The action waits for no man, and I am the no man. The worm drills through my brain. It’s made its home. You think it would treat its home right, but it doesn’t. It continues to drill and push. Its actions exhaust me. I yawn and yawn and yawn until I beg for someone to throw a tennis ball into my mouth. They don’t. I’m alone and home and tired. Too tired even to sleep. I managed to sleep last night. I thought that would make me feel better for this morning. It wasn’t to be. I woke this morning worse than ever, my head holed with the worms and exhaustion threatening to drag me into its fathoms.

It’s getting close again to sleep time. Then the weekend. I have no plans and I’m afraid that the weekend will drag me down into itself, leave me flapping my legs and arms trying to swim on dry land and look for something or anything to occupy my lonesomeness.

Randy, my sister, gave birth to beautiful twins today. She’s a brave girl, my sister is—actual both of are. We come from a brave family. Don’t ask what happened to me.

Still words flow through empty caverns. They’re searching in the nooks looking for a secure step to stand on. They want to go higher, say more. But they have to settle for what they do. And they’re not doing much today except nonsense. I need rest. Exhaustion has overtaken me. Try as I might, there is nothing left. No thoughts will make up for that. My fingers ache at the losses.

The weather changed and changed. It grew warmer and then cooler and then warmer again. The worms in my head don’t like the changing weather. It triggers the pain. I still pound away, today less organized and thoughtful than yesterday, which was barely organized and thoughtful. But it’s the word count that matters. Storying would be nice, but nice doesn’t make the ache go away.

The last twenty minutes have been better than most. I ate two Advil today. I’m not proud. I usually try to wait until the pain is unbearable to eat them. The pain was unbearable this morning. It was again this evening. Two Advil in one day is not good. I try to limit myself to a three or so a month. I used to get nasty rebound headaches, the type that left me upside down on the floor trying to relieve the pressure by forcing even more blood into my head. It sometimes worked, you should try it. What I found was that taking Advil continuously, while relieving the pain somewhat initially, would bring back the pain tenfold when taken often. It’s like the pain gets angry at me for trying to snuff it out, and returns with a vengeance to dance upon the burning embers of my brain. It’s the worms talking. I know it. I just can’t figure out what it is they’re saying.

I’m struggling with these words. It’s a bit after nine in the evening, and I want to start preparing for bed. But first I need to finish this. Man, I wish I was saying something useful today. I’m not even sure what useful words look like anymore. They’re probably really big and strung together in such ways that they don’t droop in the middle. Droopy middles don’t agree with me.

Tomorrow’s another day. And then the day after it is yet another day. It’s funny how days work like that. I played hooky from work today. Well, it wasn’t hooky since I genuinely was sick and exhausted and worm filled. So I guess it was just a sick day. I’ll be back to work tomorrow, don’t worry. I just need two nights in a row of good sleep. I got that yesterday, by the way. The first day, that is. I slept the entire night from when I put down the keyboard. Aren’t you proud of me? I had my doubts too. It felt great to sleep and terrible to wake up. Well, more terrible than usual.

This is all filler. There will come a time when I won’t be able to write filler anymore; where this will all seem ridiculous and puerile and a terrible waste of time. Then I’ll either write something worthwhile or give up. My track record doesn’t bode well, I’ll warn you. I tend to give up at times like that after a last fiery burst of inspiration. I think it’s the final inspiration that pushes me over the edge. I mean, I’ve done it then, you know. I’ve created something worthwhile. What more is there after that? It’s the process that’s important. This is painful, this typing without actually saying something excuse for fun.

So much consternation. It feels good to consternate again. I think my writing has suffered from lack of consternations. Where would I be without consternations? Oh, yeah. Now I remember. I would be actually writing something that people may want to read. I always forget that part. I’ll end this as I began, with sense-free words.

Bursting organs and twirling chairs while I keep my eyes off the road and type away. The chimney pokes out of the roof and birds take a likening to its poking. It’s hard to conjugate poke, in case you’ve never tried. There aren’t many options.

I’m not looking forward to scrolling up and trying to put this into some sense of order. Maybe I’ll correct the misspelled words and call it a night. This musing definitely needs a warning to throw off the sense of pathetic talentless hack. Sleep beckons. After tonight, I should be back on the schedule, ready to conquer the world again. I wonder if the world still needs conquering. I’m always afraid that I’ll go to sleep one day, and when I wake up, the world will be perfect and no longer in need of my particular skills.