Writer's block suuuuucks.
It's not just writer's block: it's life block. You know when you go Harvey's and you get a hamburger, and it's tasty, but over the next few hours you start feeling all woozy and nauseous - the more excitable among us might spend some time convinced that we are pregnant - and then later, you have the kind of horrible poops that make you wish you were the kind of person who hung around outside of dive bars on a Tuesday afternoon, because then you would have a hook-up to some Demerol? Like that.
Or, you know when you go shopping, and on a whim, you decide to try on a bathing suit, even though you're all bloated from your bad-decision Harvey's burger, and you're four sizes bigger than the last time you shopped for a suit, and the lighting highlights every wrinkle and glob of cellulite, which seems to be multiplying under your skin as we speak, and the results of trying on said bathing suit are two glasses of wine and 45 minutes of pep-talking by your less mentally-ill girlfriends? Like that.
It's wrong numbers and missed calls, it's spiders in the shower, it's too-cold A/C at the office and scratched glasses lenses. It's just the pitfalls of modern life. Boo fuckin' hoo, right?
In any case, I'm still around. I wrote a bang-up couple of posts this month, so if you haven't read those yet, feel free. I re-organized the front room in my house, watched half of Inglourious Basterds, had a cuddle-fest with my boyfriend, and shopped around a resume. But right now, I feel distracted, bored, cold - it's like, 12 degrees in my office - fat, lonely, and sort of pointless.
And writer's block is a total symptom of that. That little voice in your ear, whispering, "Nobody gives a shit if you write or not," trying to tempt me into putting my face in a bag of Sunchips and not surfacing until I've eaten them all. I don't want to give in - I won't give in - but it's hard to write when all I want to do is complain. It's not helped when my long-distance girl-crush is getting written up for her communal-living, chicken-harbouring ways. Sigh. Hippie glamour.
Anyway. Just checking in. Holler at me if you've got any ideas for posts; I'm happy to work on commission. I've been re-reading Scott Pilgrim, so I might write about that soon. But, like, you know....don't give up, right? I love writing and I love blogging, so I'm sure this is a little pit stop to rest, pee, maybe pump up the air pressure in the tires, and then I'll keep rumbling along, content to blather into the abyss about maxi dresses, Tarantino movies, and c0-op housing. See you all along the way.