The well has run dry, and so have I.

What the heck was I thinking? 30 days is way past my attention span. Damn you, Cora! Presenting me with a challenge to write is a lot like giving Lindsey Lohan a bottle of 90 proof and the keys to the Benz. Kinda' hard to resist. What's worse is that I'm not as good at this stream of consciousness stuff like LJ and Cora. But I'll give it a try.

I'm sitting in a conference room in the Madison Radisson (fun to say, but not to stay) during the lunch break of a seminar on Writing Workshop. As usual, I started my day with the thought, "Holy crap, these people actually think they're going to learn something from me!" I'm amazed at the skill level I'm developing in sounding authoritative while at the same time admitting I still have so much to learn. Maybe I could write Hillary's stump speeches.

It's friggin' cold here (Wisconsin, duh). Indoor heating makes me nuts. The system rattled all night, and for every molecule of heat produced it consumed a molecule of moisture. I'm chapping in places that should never chap. My elbows could sand concrete and I'm having trouble navigating the chapstick over the potholes in my lips. On a happier note, there are snow showers expected tonight, so I might flail about and produce middle-aged snow angels in the parking lot of the next Radisson on the list.

I'm still not sure this stream of consciousness is flowing anywhere, but I'm going to dam it up here anyhow. Unsure if I will be visited by a muse tomorrow, I don't want to waste all my irrational triflings today.