When I decided to begin blogging, I purchased a simple desk calendar. During the first few days, I felt as though I had hundreds of post ideas. Naturally I couldn’t do them all right away; one hundred posts would take a little while to write out, and probably should be spread out over at least a couple weeks. I didn’t want to post on one topic exclusively, and then run out of ideas for that topic later. Early readers would count on my consistent discussions on that one topic that I might discuss extensively for a few days and then never mention again. I knew I would need some form of organization, and I might as well start off that way.
So I opened my little book and I jotted down a few titles. I tried to stagger the topics; no more than one introspective piece, one exercise piece, or one creative bragging piece a week. This would keep topics from pooling, and it could help to force me to think a little harder on a topic if I didn’t have anything to say that week. The initial jotting down gave me a decently full schedule for the first month, with a few stragglers moving into the next month. When something delayed a scheduled post, I could simply slip it in the next available slot. It seemed like it would work well, and if I tried to keep a plan at least two weeks out, I wouldn’t sit in front of my computer in the morning with absolutely no inspiration.
This morning, unfortunately, proved that the plan is not fool proof. I sat down, knowing I had a post scheduled. I opened my book, and looked at the title.
Stretching. Hmm. Stretching. I waited for the memory of the post to return to me.
Stretching. It is not uncommon for me to plan something running related on Wednesdays. Stretching. I have faded a little away on stretching my muscles during a cool down. This was one of my foot pain theories.
Stretching. I have felt a little stretched thin lately. Writing, editing, sending letters, schoolwork, housework, family, and frequent trips to the Laundromat. Maybe I meant to write about stretching past my limits?
Stretching. Stretching. I do get a little jealous when I watch my dog stretch. She seems to achieve a deep, full body, satisfying stretch the moment she gets up from her frequent naps. Stretching.
Stretching. It almost doesn’t even look like a real word anymore. Stretching. Maybe I am stretching the English language when I write?
Unfortunately nothing seems to be triggering the original idea. I honestly have no idea what I meant to write. It could have been a deep and insightful commentary on modern life. It could have been a silly thought equating motherhood to the necessity of stretching into many roles. I really have no idea. I suppose this is why they tell writers to never go anywhere without a notebook; take notes on everything, because you will not remember as well as you think you will.
Someday it might come back to me. I will be sitting in a waiting room, or driving to the store, maybe lying in bed, and stretching will suddenly make perfect sense. Next time, I think I’m going to write it down better. Or maybe, the idea of learning from my mistakes is where I am stretching. Hmm. Stretching.