The dreadful mundane.

Amadeus

Finished?
Mozart:What?
The vaudeville, what do you think?
Mozart:Yes.
Can I see it?
Mozart:No.
Why not?
Mozart:Because there’s nothing to see.
I asked you if we could start rehearsals next week and you said yes.
Mozart:We can.
So let me see it. Where is it?
Mozart: Here. (Pointing to his head) It’s all right here in my noodle.
The rest is just scribbling. Scribbling and bibbling, bibbling and scribbling.

I say the same when I have a fantastic idea for a paper. Repetitively. It’s so beautiful in the mind, so perfect, un-obscured, and straight-forward, bright as an evening star. But the drudgeries of writing them down, the explanations and the unnecessary words to put it across seems mundane and annoying and hence I keep post-poning… Let someone come up with telepathy already and relieve me of the mundane. Let me just think and resolve while the superficial details unimportant, become unnecessary here forth…