I go home at night, turn on the computer, read (cough) too many excellent blogs, then blank out. Stare at the page while the things I thought I'd write about shriek through my head and dissipate like tissue paper in a rainstorm.
(And the white blogger screen? It doesn't give me hints. Damn it.)
I get distracted by everything else. The kids, the mechanics of feeding and bathing them, the news of the day. The inquisitive and insistent wet nose of the dog. (Walk? Pet? Slobber?)
I do better writing after they've shuffled off to Buffalo and the house is quieter.
How strange, then, that today, while I'm working, I want to stare at the whiteness of the screen and then cover it with words.
The department I'm in today is tucked into an alcove between the emergency room and the main lobby - a peaceful oasis between two drama-filled areas. The acoustics are nice, and it's possible to both pay attention to what's going on around me and to center in on myself.
Maybe it's the dog's fault this never happens at home.