jeff shuck

I am here working late on a variety of things that seemed incredibly important when I started them — and that now cannot hold my attention. I have found myself drifting to various things to distract me: Running to get a diet Coke; leafing through a magazine at my giant desk; looking at IM for someone I know to pop up; doodling; watching the picture of the earth rotate on my desktop; listening to the great new Stars album; and, ironically, looking at buying a book called “Getting Things Done” from Amazon.

And so I turn to the website. The blog. The letter to no one. The letter to myself, I guess. If this is a letter to someone else, I wish I knew who you were. Or if this is a letter to myself, I guess I wish I had something better to say.

I look back on the random drivel and scrawlings and notes that I’ve posted here and I cannot decide whether I really have nothing of value to add to this world’s dialogue, or whether I’m purposely avoiding writing something substantive. And I guess the question that is more troubling is, would I know the difference?

Am I down and out? Is that it? Dried up, nothing creative left? I feel — I feel dried, but not dried up. Maybe I just need some replenishment. Some watering.

Bruised and beaten, but not down and out.

Is that the difference?