Rabbit holes

I'm going to start.

Any minute now.

The words will come to me. They always do. The first few might be tricky. But they won't seem like an illusion for long.

To be honest, the blank page never worries me.

Something insistent will poke its head out of the tinnier of my thoughts. Soon other ideas will follow and fall in line. 

But first, let me check my email.

And then, Twitter.

Back to email.

I'm just looking for ideas to refresh.

I can't tell you how much time I've saved myself by deleting Facebook from my phone.

Whole minutes at my disposal.

This phenomenon is what some folks call falling down a rabbit hole.

That meme from four days ago has multiplied. I'll click on one, and a Jacob's ladder of related but rubbishy replicas will fall out.

I will read a few, but then I will manage to resist getting down to the lowest rung.

For now.

Right now, I have work to do. And I'll get there eventually. Until then, I'll just take one more quick tour of the old inbox.

A few emails from known retailers circle its edge. Brushing past them, I click open one from a human I know. That's it — just one.

I scroll through the folder until "yesterday" replaces the date in my timeline.

Did I look in junk mail? Most of my human, non-spammy stuff gets filtered there. Not sure how to fix it without continually swimming against an overwhelming tide.

Better hit the circle arrow to update. Watching new, bold letters flow into the column is exciting.

The excitement rarely lasts longer than a moment. Nothing warrants another automatic refresh ... but I press again just in case. 

Like pushing an already lit elevator button. The physical manifestation of a psychological impatience.

Back on the blank page, I circle my index finger over some keys. I put a few words down and backspace until they disappear.

I won't fret this stutter step, I'm not afraid of commitment. Not yet, anyway. 

Copy and Paste are my friends. 

Oh, look ... a cat video.

Maybe I'll just watch a little of it before I swim back over to the impeachment hearings. 

I want to check and see if anyone has replied to my 140-character astonishment. But that would stop the audio.

I wish it could listen to one thing and scroll to another. But my phone is not as amazing at walking and chewing gum as I'd been lead to imagine.

Another news item provides color from the Nation's Capitol … its bar scene, where DC sports fans are hunkering down with C-SPAN and a libation: a Subpoena Colatta perhaps? 

"Focus!" I shout as I stand up and roll my head ... first to the right, then to the left. I am ignoring the tiny clicks that accompany my joints through the rotation. I jump up and down, extending my arms and legs, hoping to wake up and snap out of this daze.

"Rabbit named Hocus. Rhymes with Pocus. Makes entire days disappear."

"I didn't catch that," replies my proprietary pocket assistant. Would you like me to search the internet?"