Why not?

Readers, let me tell you. I was in the shower, on Easter, in England. The intermittent, shower-borne desire to write something hit again, even if it neglected to bring with it any ideas. It did say "write what you know." We'll get to that in a minute.

Half of the little holes in the showerhead that spew water are clogged up with gunk, and there doesn't seem to be any way to open them up. I'm fairly certain that wasn't helping anything.

I may be too much of a revisionist writer to publish anything here. I have never been able to write anything without thoroughly altering every single phrase eighteen times. That, and I'm the world's worst typist. I suppose the true test will be if I ever post here again, though I think I might. I can't foresee any reason why anyone except for me would ever want to read any garbage that might get posted here, but it seems like a tremendous format for story fragments, or travelogues, or music reviews, or fantasy baseball strategies or anything else self-indlugent in my head.