I am not a prolific worker. I swing from one overpowering interest to another, some times multiple times in one day, leaving a trail of bread crumbs of work behind me. Over time, those crumbs have piled pretty high; but the horizon of fascinating new things to think about, to read and write about, to do and make, is no nearer today than it was ten years ago. Maybe one day I can put the crumbs together into a loaf, but the older I get, the less likely it seems.
So here I am. Working on a million things that may never see light. What next?
I don’t have answers tonight, only anxiety.