This is the fourth article I've wirtten where I can't use the question mark.

Keys are stuck.

What does one do.

Keep writing.

Use the periods.

The exclamations!

The commas,

Everything else but the question mark.

You've got to work with what you have.

Prophet of markets must use her coconut.

And creativity.

Otherwise, shame on her lot.

Anyway, maybe I asked enough questions.

Time for more answers.

Have to re-wire the brain.

Re-train the mind.

Doable.

No more questions from now on.

Until I get this old laptop fixed.

And then again, maybe I won't.

Just fine as it is.

Lesson for the day.

No more questions.

I can't be a journalist anymore.

I'm a writer now.

Cool!

I do think crazy.

When something doesn't work anymore, I shift.

As they say, you have to "move".

"You're not a tree."

Who said that.

Whoops, another question.

I must make more statements.

Give more answers.

I did enough research already.

Have to write and wing it.

As if I know what I'm doing.

I can't shoot you the questions anymore.

My laptop made sure of that.

Darn!

Ooohh...there's that exclamation!

I can get used to that, I suppose.

We writers talk to ourselves all the time.

It's a way to hash out our thoughts.

Surely you do that, too -- writer or not.

But I talk quietly to myself.

The brain does all that hashing, re-hashing, and sorting.

Fine equipment our brains, eh.

Pure, precise, positive.

Or, at least, I chose to.

But I cannot ask questions anymore.

How can a five-year-old exist and not ask.

That'll be the darndest thing ever.

Maybe it's time to grow up.

I shudder at the thought.

Still, I think I won't have my old laptop repaired.

It's wise.

It knows what I don't.

I have to work with what it has.

The answers.

Almost like a good, old Zen monk.

Very wise, indeed.