What really goes on in a writer's head?

My marriage is a mosaic of peanut butter sandwiches, made in the blinking hours of the morning for my pregnant wife who can’t get out of bed without putting some protein in her stomach.  It is a kaleidoscope of laundry loads, foot rubs, and trips to the grocery store, sprinkled with stories told to our two year old before bedtime about baseball and Jesus.  A thousand tiny points of light in my past reflect the fragments of memory that make up the life we have built together, illuminating on occasion glimpses of the eternity that is rolling out before us.  The question, “why do we marry,” may never be answered, but that may not be the important question anyway.  Certainly the meaning of marriage, what we create it to be, what we do with this oldest of social covenants, becomes the true measure of our existence. Blah blah blah blah.  What manipulative garbage.  What are you trying to say about marriage anyway?  I don’t know.  Perhaps if you sat down in the quiet for a few hours you might be able to figure that out.  Perhaps if you could take a few quiet moments to think clearly, to create, to write, and to research, something good might come out of this silly compilation of details about marriage that are currently worthless.  So the truth is that you have not yet discovered what is worth writing about this topic.  You don’t care about it enough.  You are trying to hard to prove something, to say something, instead of just letting the truth create the story and the feeling for you.  What works about collage essays is that you are reporting detail, and only riffing commentary occasionally, like subtle paddle strokes on a quiet river.  Nothing big is needed.  The details will carry your reader most of the way.  Your job as a writer is to occasionally nudge them in the right direction, help keep them in line with the current of your thinking.  If we paddle too much we get to our destination too fast, and the reader is disappointed, they want there money back, and they certainly aren’t going to recommend you to their friends.   By limiting our paddling, our prodding, and our commentary, we allow the reader to not only think at there own pace, but to arrive at there own destination.  You are writing a current of thought for your readers.  Leave the paddling to them.