As the clock strikes midnight, the itch to write a blog post won’t leave my mind. But… What am I supposed to write about when I have nothing to say? Why should I even do so? There exists a smidgen of merit in the fact that simply doing is its own form of practice, or at the very least grants the comfort of having exercised something. In my case, the use of vocabulary that otherwise goes neglected certainly aids future writing sessions. Just having these words floating around after recent deployment keeps me from blanking out too hard the next time. The habit-formation is also good enough reason.

If I really want to be cynical about it though, writing about anything at all also makes me feel like I had anything to say, even when it isn’t necessarily true. And is it really in this case? Being dragged along by some ill-formed sense of obligation to shit out whatever comes to mind? Because that’s really all this is, however “meta” it tries to come across. It was simply easier to write about my lack of topics as a topic-in-itself. I feel a bit embarrassed about this, contemplating whether this nothing-piece should pollute the “Blog” category at all.

Is this exercise so bad though? It does get to the heart of what motivates me to write at all. For, if I did not enjoy the act in itself, would I still be typing right now? Would I have expended the effort to finish this sentence? Maybe it’s best for me to get this crutch out of my system and sit on it for a bit. After digesting this screed, maybe I’ll come to terms with the reality that sometimes I really do have nothing to yap about. Hey, that’s another reason to do this: self-reflection. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll even hone the ability to harmonize the requisite acquisition of substance with the ever-present drive to write. Baby steps.