For months now, I’ve gone through the motions just as I’ve intended to do. Several times a week, when I find myself with a spare hour of two, I sit down at my laptop with a beverage. Sometimes it’s coffee or tea, and other times it’s wine… because, well that’s how I roll.
For months now, I’ve had ideas of things I wanted to write about. I’ve collected pictures that I wanted to share, movies that I wanted to review, and dozens upon dozens of utterly ridiculous things have happened that I wanted to record.
For months now, I’ve come up with excuse upon excuse about why today is not the day to put anything new on the interwebs. I’m too tired. I need to finish this last season of the “Ghost Whisperer,” then I can write… My eyes hurt from looking at facebook all day. I’m not allowed to write unless I work out first.
Thus, this blog space has remained unused.
In the mean time, it’s been taunting me like that kid Terell did in the first grade when I had to wear an eyepatch at the SAME TIME that I had an arm so severely broken, that I had to wear it taped to my body inside my shirt. “YOU LOOK LIKE A ONE ARMED PIRATE, ” he yelled repeatedly from a line across the hallway.
But my blog is much, much meaner. “YOU STUPID TALENTLESS CUNT-NO ONE WANTS TO READ YOUR THOUGHTS ANYWAY. ALL YOU DO IS TALK ABOUT JOHN CUSACK AND COMPLAIN ABOUT NOT BEING ABLE TO WRITE ANYMORE. YOU CAN’T SPELL AND YOU NEED TO BRUSH YOUR TEETH.”
Perhaps some of this is true. I can’t spell and I definitely do need to brush my teeth. But I’m done caring. I’ve said it before-but I think I mean it this time. I’ll post about John Cusack until my teeth rot out. I’m not scared of you anymore, you stupid mother fucking smelly ball eater blog.
So there. I feel better.
Over the next few months I’ll definitely need to make some changes. This webspace needs a face-lift, some liposuction, a tummy tuck, and my writing needs some definite exercising-but it’s important to me, so I’ll do it. I think.
In the mean time, you should probably watch this giant bird in a human suit.
Also, over the last few months-every time I’ve complained about having writer’s block to my boyfriend-he jokingly suggested that I write about his balls. It’s taking every ounce of me not to. He should know better. For the record, they’re kind of cute. Not as cute as this though.