Peanut Buttering

Too many good ideas

I find myself in a strange position where I'm at a loss for what to write not because I lack ideas, but because all the ideas I have are too good.

When I sit down to write, tired at the end of the day with 30 minutes before bed, it feels like a travesty to crap out a shallow little treatment of an idea I've been curious to explore for weeks or months. Such a topic deserves care and attention that I simply can't afford to give it right now.

I feel this way about other things too. If I'm similarly tired, I hate to read a book or even play a video game that I'm excited about, because I want to be able to pay it my full attention. I'm not sure whether my system is noble and wise, or ignoble and igwise.

I loathe writing "meta" like this. It feels masturbatory. So let me round this off with a completely unrelated excerpt, straight from my notes app. It's a fine pour -- not a fine vintage to be cellared 'til uncorked years hence, but good for a quick buzz.

--

The weird thing about moving is that until you've moved, you haven't.

Unlike with something like an illness where you get sicker and sicker each day, you don't feel gradually more moved each day.

Even as I drove to the airport on my move, I didn't feel moved at all. Nothing was abnormal. You drive to the airport all the time for vacation. Sure I'd moved out of my apartment, but that isn't felt as long as you're out and about. The singular, only odd thing I noticed was that I had in my pocket a key ring with zero keys on it.