My Short-Term Memory

I was driving my car anxiously the other day.

Subconsciously pipe dreaming into my wildest mindful explorations.

Imagine a story building up inside my head that had so much heart and power behind its words.

My left arm was tingling with anticipation to begin a mighty grip, wishing to be gliding some ink across the papers in my journal.

But now I am here.

I have completely forgotten my entire made-up story, and I feel I have nothing to write that might be worth reading to others.

I am just scribbling endless thoughts of nonsense down about something that cannot happen because my imagination works faster than my motivation.

I am now cozying up on the couch with my fluffy, not fat, sweet baby boy kitten, blabbering on.

Trying to procrastinate this pointless story to the bottom of the page so I can convince myself I got some work done.

I am now almost near the end. Will I flip onto the next page and make an effort toward the original story I wish to write? Or will I mindlessly stare at the next blank page waiting for my creative imagination to strike upon my mind again? This time I will be ready; let’s hope it’s as good as the last one felt to almost be.