The Internet is my sinkhole.

I'm bubbling with words, y'all.

So much thinking going on in my head and I want to get it all out on to the page - but I just can't seem to put it together coherently.

The inside of my head is like one of those houses on hoarders. It's all covered in broken appliances and trash and cat poo.  But in between all the ten year old pieces of mail and receipts for groceries that have long ago rotted, there is real gold in there. Real thoughts that need to be spoken.

I have this fantasy that I go somewhere that there is no Internet, no TV, no radio, no distractions. Just me and my computer and my words. How on earth do people turn out books these days? How do they keep themselves from being distracted by all the shiny squirrels running around? Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and YouTube and Ellen DeGeneres and men who get swallowed up by sinkholes and snowstorms and the latest dumb drama going on in that Facebook group they lurk in.

Every time I start to have a thought that I think might really be valuable, another damn shiny squirrel goes running by and I'm clickety clicking away.

I need a retreat. The Internet is my sinkhole.