sure, okay, fine, have it your way

it has been brought to my attention that I don't write anymore. Many blame this on my engaged status (see below), but to tell the truth it is most likely from the cyclical nature of my, um, nature. I go through cycles of writing, reading, meditation, randomness, and void, which sometimes end up being mutually exclusive to each other. For instances there are months when I write everyday and others when I can't write a word nor want to but will consume a book a day, and others when I do not want to write or read much but wish to think and interact with people. And there are other times when my mind is firing off in so many directions I can not think cohesively enough to write, nor pay attention long enough to read anything seriously. I have most recently been in the latter cycle, but since I have been told to write and post my randomness anyway, here is a blip (the only semi-coherent thought I could record in the last day or so):

Sleepily I sip water straight from the pitcher until it flows down my chin onto the table, then into the cave in the floor; the stream flows on not merrily as the rhyme would say but thunderously--crashing lightning white waves on budding rocks; it deposits me on the red earth of an olive grove where I stretch under the stenciled shade of olive trees and grow dull from the sun's torrid rays.