a guy who works down the hall at my office and whom i've affectionally decided to refer to as ted for the purpose of his anomynity, stopped by my cube this morning to sarcastically inquire as to whether i was working or blogging. the truth is i wasn't doing anything. i was literally, perched in my chair- on-wheels staring blankly at my desk. my brain hadn't yet caught on to the fact that we were out of bed and halfway through our morning together, much less at work.
my mind was then, and still sort of is, completely void of any original thoughts of which to write... or in my case, type. the words and thoughts are in there, somewhere, i know. but its as if they are compartmentalized in an entity all their own. i collectively refer to this entity as an alterego of sorts: 'the blogger in me'. she comes and goes as she pleases, as if i am just a sidenote. so i futily peck out letters on the keyboard and wait for her return. and in the meantime, perhaps i should do some work, too.