With an excruciating slowness, I've been hammering out the paragraphs of an essay. Really, what I've been doing is hammering out the sentences of the paragraphs of an essay. Really, what I've been doing is moving those sentences around within the body of each paragraph and thinking about how they are speaking to each other. When a sentence swims into a new position, strange thoughts bubble to the surface.

So far I've reached the end of the second page. If I were a pitcher, the manager would have already taken me out of the game.

I've been writing and not writing, reading and not reading. Yesterday I split firewood and pushed quarters into the ravenous maws of commercial washing machines. Tuesday, I leave for a week on the road. Perhaps I will have broken into page 3 before then.

I still have no idea what I'm trying to say.