Two sides of a sheet of paper. There's little else, if anything, in my life.

I don't do much else. There's little else that I truly enjoy doing. Even this writing, this missive on two sides of a sheet of cardstock, sometimes feels like a waste of time.

The dogs are out in the yard. In front of me, an empty mug that held the cup of coffee I drank two hours ago. Nothingness.

The lonely AA battery that's on the table to the left of my left hand. The hand gently holds down this sheet of paper. I'll look for meaning in it, for a story, for a situation.

I write these two-page pieces one at a time, and think: it will spark something. That's the game I play. For two to four hours a day, I write on two sides of a piece of cardstock, again and again.

Trust me, I say aloud, something will come of this. Unlike the endless pages I wrote in journals, there's not the chance to ramble on and on. There is an ending point, and then yet another starting point.

When there's seemingly nothing in my head, something worthwhile emerges. One of these things that I see, hear, do, or think leads to something. Then I edit out the doubt, and publish what worked.

The blank computer monitor, waiting for input. So eager to broadcast the ideas that a phone or laptop has for it. The keyboard, the Bluetooth speaker, they all have meaning. They can all be in a situation. They all have a story to tell.