I’ve been called prolific, with good reason.  I don’t care for it, but that doesn’t make it inaccurate.  But today, nothing moved me enough to formulate an opinion or compel me to write.  It happens.

Whenever I don’t post something, readers send emails asking why, what happened.  Nothing happened. I just had nothing that I felt like writing about, so rather than write for the sake of keeping the reader occupied, I took a pass.  I was up late last night watching the end of the Butler/Duke game (and I’m not a basketball fan at all).  I slept late this morning. 

I’m still spending a lot of time every day cleaning up the spam comments, which have continued unabated while becoming increasingly more worthless and spammy.  You would think that the spammers would figure out that their comments don’t make it to the screen and would take their game somewhere else.  But these aren’t the brightest folks online, and come back night after night by the hundreds to post about how they agree with me and (coincidentally) have the cure for toenail fungus or best man speeches.  The crap they sell is unbelievable.  There’s a hypster for every problem.

I started to write a post about Gideon’s latest at A Public Defender, Guilty of being poor, but a few minutes into it realized that I had nothing particularly worthwhile to add.  Like Shakespeare, I don’t always know what I think until I see what I write.  Sometimes, I learn that I don’t think much of anything, which is usually a good reason to stop writing.

And for anyone who happens to notice, this post is all about me.  Norm would chastise me for navel gazing.  Mike would make sure I realized that I was a pathologic narcissist.  I don’t mind.  It’s just an explanation for the void, with far too many “I’s” for comfort.  That’s what happens when you navel gaze.

This may all change later today, should something strike me as worthy of writing.  Or maybe tomorrow. Or maybe not.  Either way, have a nice day.