Monday, January 12, 2004


Ya ever have one of those days where you want to write, you really, really do, but nothing interesting is popping into your brain? Well, you can think of things to write, like how very much you miss LiterateLawyerGuy after not hearing from him for a while, or how very pleased you are that you'll be seeing CuteNerdBoy soon, or that the next mix CD is nearly compiled, ready to be copied.

Or even how the job search is going (slowly, through your own fault - G-d, how you hate writing cover letters with the fire of a thousand intensely burning suns - then you start wondering if blue stars burn more intensely than white stars or vice-versa, trying with all your might to recall the astronomy you used to know like the back of your hand when you were a kid and failing miserably, so instead you decide to Google it and discover that indeed, blue stars are hotter than white stars, but you wish to heaven that MSN Encarta didn't have the ready answer because you're not very fond of Microsoft or anything Bill Gates related, despite his strangle-hold on the personal computing world and the fact that your once beloved Netscape is now impossibly crappy, forcing you to use Internet Explorer and maybe looking into installing Linux in the future isn't such a bad idea - then you realize that you're getting hopelessly off-track again because, you know, you embody the phrase "Tangents-'R-Us", so you search and search for the main point, using your visual machete to hack through the thick underbrush of the parenthetical aside that has grown to monstrous proportions, trapping large animals and small children in its living branches, looking to suck the life out of them, but instead you free them and send them back to their points of origin, after which the parents of the freed children have an immense celebratory dinner with the entire village invited, thanking you for your bravery with a small cottage on the edge of the village, near your increasingly Godzilla-like stream-of-consciousness so that you might save others unwise enough to venture into its mysterious depths, not realizing the size and viciousness of the aside is all your doing and still it grows and becomes mixed metaphors and - oh, here's that main point you were searching for...)

So yeah, there's stuff to write about. But you're tired of writing about your boys and you're tired of the job crap and you think that there's got to be something out there worth writing about, whether it's the weekend you spent with FFDWG(FKaSarah) - shopping (Books! Music! Clothes! Computer stuff! All very cheap, but all stuff you love with a deep passion, so whee!) and eating and watching Lord of the Rings:Return of the King (excellent movie, but boy, were you and your horribly sore ass ready for it to end at least an hour before it did or what? And no Christopher Lee makes you a very, very sad little girl) and going down to Torrance to check out cars for her and maybe you too.

Or you could write about the board game night that your writing group compatriots and you are hosting on Friday night after too long a time - 25 LAPC people are already signed up - too bad only two of your friends have RSVP'd thus far and that was to say, "No, sorry," (one of them, that cute SingleUPSGuy (see end of entry) from Rockerchick's surprise birthday party (again, see end of entry) even tried to get the night off from work for it).


Nothing else comes to mind. Maybe you're just not that interesting any more. Or despite your desire to write, maybe you're just going through a dry spell. Hey, maybe it's time to concentrate on writing cover letters! Or e-mails that you owe to other people! That should channel your need to write just fine.

Then again, that mounting pile of laundry might need to be addressed pretty damned soon. Yeah, that's what you'll do today.


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Carol/Female/36-40. Lives in United States/California/Los Angeles/San Fernando Valley, speaks English. Spends 40% of daytime online. Uses a Normal (56k) connection.
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