I just wrote a 426 word comment on someone’s opinion post. It took me all of a few minutes and that’s while watching Bologna disappoint me again, this time against Monza which is new for me as I haven’t seen them play each other before. There was some deleting and rewriting because I’m an absurd on-the-fly editor when I get to typing but it went relatively quickly. Why the hell does it take me so damn long to write when I’m expected to?

I remember a bon voyage and thanks for all you’ve done article years ago by Jonah Goldberg on the occasion of Florence King’s retirement from regular contributor and whatever editorial duties she had. He was jovial and kind and obviously in awe of her but he did tease about the four or so hours she always took to complete a one thousand word piece. (Dammit. Monza won… Sorry. I mean “Dammit. [SPOILER] Monza won.])

I’ve always suffered over how long it takes me to write when I mean to write for writing’s sake. In school I was great at knocking out fifteen hundred or more words in the forty-five minute class time when we had essay tests. I spit out lengthy responses about how stupid everything and everybody was back when I used Facebook for more than occasionally making sure none of my distant friends died. For whatever reason when I plan on putting something other than a comment out there for people to read I become frozen by options. I want to go every direction at once and reigning myself in is the work of hours and one very worn Backspace button.

I wouldn’t make fun of Florence King’s writing. She made being a misanthropic Southern lesbian seem fun. I’m glad Goldberg did, at least that one friendly jibe, because finding out I wasn’t the only slowpoke made me feel better. We named a cat Florence.