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There's not a whole lot to write about this week.
It's just one of those empty ones. Almost void-like, but not so, just to save Aristotle, Descartes, and Pascal from running around, screaming about the void, the impossibility of one, or just screaming.
There was a brief moment when the subject of time-space continuum (any sub-subject) sprung to the fore, but that's been summarily dismissed as old territory, and nothing new, really, save some holes in it that may or may not have made Thursday mornings interesting, and water stains, and not terribly interesting, either.
Something about rabbits (no sub-subject, in toto) presented itself from the desk of one of our senior writers, but we're afraid he's been going on about animals of all sorts for a little too long now, and we're not up for encouraging him. Not this week, anyway. Unless he was willing to throw in a bit about cheese (preferably brie), and he was adamant about no cheese. And yes, we're keeping a close eye on him, in case our discouraging tactic doesn't work and he only gets more anxious to share his thoughts on rabbits.
An incredibly long parenthetical reference leapt to mind, but we didn't really have anything to put in it.
It's not that it was in a bad way, writer's block (or writers' block, as the case is) or something like that (for which I always picture a brick wall. Not between a writer and his/her desk, but just a brick wall, hanging out, all by itself, just not writing, itself, I guess, which may be the point of the image. Or possibly it has no point, could be.), but it's in a good way, this emptiness.
Like the breath out of one's lungs.
disclaimer:
The recent spate of bird mockings in Kerry are not our fault.
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Yer Weekly Horoscopes.