What's the Matter, Hatter?

Winfield Mad Hatter

I am tired of the sound of my own voice. That can be a problem. That can be a problem when you are maintaining an on-line journal such as this one. That can be a problem when you intend to tell the story, but every sentence lacks life. Every word lies flat, and stares at me with dead eyes.

I can't even work up much energy about talking about why I'm tired of my own voice. It's word after word after word. They just sound too much like me. And I bore myself.

Once upon a time, I sought out life experiences as some sort of writing school. I smoked pot. I snorted coke, and speed. I drank to excess.

I quickly realized that these experiences were not leading to great writing, but to certain self-destruction.

I muddle through my days. I watch the sun chase the moon, morning after morning. I put one foot in front of the other, and sometimes wish for some alternative.

But this is why I'm finding it so hard to tell you about the details of my time at the Walnut Valley Festival in Winfield, KS this year. My life bores me. My words about my life bore me.

I'm so tempted to sum it up quickly. "It was ok." Or, "It was the same old same old." Then I'd be done with it.

In the end, what does it matter?

It's only life. It's only words.

I've been here before. We know it passes. If only I can persist in putting one foot in front of t'other.

And I am dedicated to finishing. It may take a little longer, even longer than it did last year. But I believe I'll get there.