The days pass, and with each and every passing, but important, chore or errand, or whatever’s on my current to-do list, the call to write aches in me. Though I haven’t added here in a while, and even saying that is a bit cliche (and darn, where is that French accent for that ‘e’?) mind you, the pull to present (don’t you just love that alliteration?) something fantastical, or even mundane, still calls. It’s how well I ignore it that belies my keyboard-friendly fingers. So, what is this? A diary entry, more like it, of the guilt that pangs my heart, or is it simply the duty I’ve bestowed upon myself, tricking myself into believing that there actually is an audience. Perhaps, fleetingly there is, and perhaps not. No matter. The randomness of my thoughts that spontaneously flow from my brain down my arm to this page isn’t so categorically –actually it’s not categorical a’tall, it just sounded like a good place for that word at the moment –systematic. There. Much better. Systematic and spontaneous? In the same clause? I’m already off track, as you can see. Nonetheless, this (and I’m giggling now) frequent misplay of diction-induced ephemerality (or would that be better as ephemerally-induced diction?) is no less deserving of its time and space, and if there is any cause here, it is only this –I haven’t forgotten the whole three of you who read this.