Fillin' up time. Empty time! No, fill it up! Cut cut paste paste. Ten pages read here and there. Another cup of coffee, not for the road, but for the pages to be turned and the time to be turned into past time and my pastimes are not, sadly, baseball games and flag football, but refreshing pages on the screen and screening the calls I don't get and not getting called by this elusive inspiration. Come on, second cup, let the inspiration begin! Gun shot and they're off. Racing around my head, but only in circles. Going somewhere, even if that somewhere has already been gone. Gone? Is it gone? So fickle, inspiration. Fickle rhymes with pickle and that makes me mad that that's the only thing I can think of. I like when Cs and Ks are together. Unnecessary, sure, but they seem to like one another's company. The other day I made what one might call a "gaffe" and referred to Brave New World as Brave New Company. Who does that? And why? Why would I do such a thing? Huh. At least I did not call it Brave New Fickle Pickle. I sure do miss my brainchildren. Fill it up!