Pavlov’s Writer…


Some mornings…I sit down to a blank page…and…words just flow…and…sometimes…they don’t…this…is a don’t morning…in fact…this morning…I don’t even want to write…I have absolutely no desire…to find words to put on this paper…

And…yet…

Words are sneaking on…oh…they may not be the best words…they may not be…fancy words…but…they are words just the same…solid…letters…arranged into what we recognize…as…words…

There’s just something about my fingers on the keyboard…much like Pavlov’s dog…that just do what comes naturally to them…autopilot…

Bertha…says it reminds her of my life…

Now…I’m not sure exactly what she means…am I living on auto pilot…isn’t that a bad thing…or…does she mean…that…I just instinctively…do what needs to be done…whether I want to or not…isn’t that a good thing

She laughs…it’s not so simple as a good thing…or a bad thing…it’s…just…life…and…sometimes…like this page…it fills up in spite of me…sometimes…it’s on autopilot…and…sometimes…it’s instinctive…and…sometimes…it’s on purpose…it’s not so important that I am able to…pigeonhole it

No…it’s just important…to let it be what it is…to accept the mornings…when…words flow easily…along with the ones when my thoughts are clumsier than my fingers…

I’m trying to wrap my head around all of that…but…I just heard a bell…and for some strange reason…I’m salivating…think I’ll go find breakfast…

Jane

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