Jesus, it's been forever.
If this wasn't the longest writer's block on record, then... um... [writer's block]. DAMN.
This blog used to be a daily oasis for me. I was bat-shit crazy, but boy did I have shit to say. Has my transformation into a stable, well-adjusted human being inhibited my ability to write things? Um, maybe. But do I really want to write things? YES, YES I DO. However, writer rule number one is having a life worthy of writing about. But you know what? I'm kind of fucking grateful that my life has taken a turn down Stability Lane, where everyone is in bed by 9:30 and has cats. After years (and possibly multiple past-life incarnations) of having a totally bizarre, sad, manic, unpredictable conscious experience, I'm kind of relieved that my biggest problem at present is being disgustingly poor.
I'm most grateful for Keanen. He is, without a doubt, my center of gravity. He drives me absolutely nuts, but also keeps me from going absolutely nuts, if that makes sense. After a lifetime of living in the space that lies somewhere between my chest and the fucking ceiling, I feel much more grounded and much more in my body. I can feel my feet on the ground. Funny enough, Beyonce of all people said it the best: "There is nothing more exciting than having a witness to your life." (Disclaimer: I was trying to find the all holy "7/11" video that all the kids have been talking about, and ended up stumbling upon a 10 minute Beyonce pep talk that just so happened to change my life forever and always, PRAISE THE QUEEN *does cross motion across chest*.)
Anyway, what was I saying?
Oh yeah, that I can't write. That was my point. I want to, I really do. The desire is there, but the creative juices are not. I used to pump out a short story every month, a poem once in a while, even an impromptu essay here and there. You know what my problem is? No one is giving me a large sum of money to quit my full time job to do this. Somehow, some way, this is not my fault, and is merely a result of not being born into a wealthy family who will ultimately enable my creativity and, inevitably, my very own line of handbags or perfumes somewhere down the line.
It's a hard knock life, man.











