Fair warning: Today I am uninspired. Under my new truth-in-labeling program, you need to know that this entry is uninspired too. I�d post a big sign but the politician (me) who created this new program just gave a big press conference supporting the program and then allocated no money for it. (And you thought I�d learned nothing about being a politician. Hah!)

Usually, I write my entries the night before but last night the main computer was being used for more important things. Kat was working on her report about the science experiment from hell and that thing is so graphics heavy that only the main computer can handle it. I could have used the older computer in the dining room but the table is positioned so I cannot get at the proper distance to see the screen. For the first time in more than twenty years, I think the distance prescription is okay but the bifocal needs strengthening. But none of that matters because the real problem is that I�m uninspired.

Some journal writers turn to answering surveys when they are uninspired. They answer such deep questions as �What is your shoe size?� (Answer: In American sizes, 5 � or 6 which is why I have difficulty finding adult shoes to go with suits. Very few adult women in this country have small feet anymore. Even the kids don�t. When the middle school kids in the musical needed to get character shoes, I offered to lend mine. No one had feet small enough to use them.) The more philosophical turn to questions such as �What are you sure of?� (Answer: I�m quite sure I�m uninspired. Aren�t you glad I asked?)

Some journal writers, the smarter ones among us, simply don�t post when uninspired. But I am a creature of habit and a believer in discipline. So I write this trash whether it�s good or not and, if you�re still reading this, you�re my kind of reader. You read this trash whether its good or not. (And, if I�m really, really lucky, you�re also kind enough not to complain that this trash is trash but please, whatever you do, don�t call it �interesting.�)

Once, while working on a school essay, Kat asked me how you possibly could write a paragraph if you had nothing to say on a subject. I told her that having something to say always made for better writing but that school, and sometimes life, periodically required that one say something even though there was nothing to say. I told her that part of getting good grades was learning how to write on topics even if you had nothing to say. The art of it was filling up a page without the teacher realizing that you had nothing to say.

So if you�re wondering why you had to slog through this stuff, blame it on my having learned to be a very good student---and be glad that, unlike Charles Dickens, I�m not paid for my lack of inspiration by the word

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