- The Blinking Cursor blinks; and, having blinked,
Moves on: unless your Piety or Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Or your drink on the keys shorts out all of it
The curse of the blinking cursor. All those deep thoughts in traffic, gone. I do carry a notebook to write down great ideas, but in traffic? Forget it. Literally. And I dislike the sound of my own voice, so no dictaphone or something. Etc.
So I resort to another story about hypnotism.
Self-hypnosis, this time. I tried it last night, but I think I fell asleep during the relaxation phase. That’s the drawback of drinking three glasses of wine and then going to bed tired. All I remember is counting backwards from a hundred to about 80 or so. And now whenever anyone says “dystopia” I dance the Bump with whomever’s handy.