I had forgotten how, at the end of each day, work can deplete us of the energy to create anything beyond what we are expected to do at the office. This is not a complaint—it’s just an acknowledgment of reality. As I write these words, I’m squeezing my neurons to produce something meaningful, even though I know it might be a failed attempt.

I usually write my posts well in advance, which allows me to reflect on what I wrote and polish it if necessary. I focus on a specific topic that I’ve had in mind for a while, or sometimes on something that comes up spontaneously. Regardless, I usually schedule the post to be published on Fridays. Today, however, I’m writing a very spontaneous post on no particular topic, which I will publish immediately.

I’m not sure why I feel this need to justify myself—to whom? What I write is barely read by anyone. Even my girlfriend and a really good friend—whom I forced myself to send links to a couple of posts—aren’t particularly interested in my “work thoughts,” and honestly, I don’t blame them. This can be an exhausting topic and difficult to follow purely on a personal impulse, as I tend to ping-pong here and there without a precise plan, guided only by my love for writing. But I love it the way it is. I don’t seek much visibility; I really enjoy my “wannabe” blog/personal website that never quite takes off, with its occasional visitor who drops by briefly—and the rare reader who shows appreciation with a like.

I guess I’m not justifying myself but rather reflecting on this nonsensical train of thought on a very long and tiring Thursday.