this whole blog thing can drive you batshit crazy. especially when you are staring at the empty white box and the cursor, which just blinks, and blinks, and blinks, like it's taunting you. write something you idiot. i don't have all day. and i feel a certain obligation to post at least a few times a week because hey, i don't wanna get an email from my pal Dawn at MDI that simply says: "slacker." and i like how it feels when i've scrapped around my brain and tapped away long enough to get something worth clicking "publish post" for.
i've been coming up empty lately. maybe my brain is fried. maybe those creative juices (love that phrase) are dryin' up. i thought of writing about music, and how my tastes are all over the place depending on my mood, or my destination point, or the weather, or who i'm keeping company with. ya know, when i'm driving to shapleigh, The Place Where I Did Crazy Things As An Out-of-Control Teenager, i just have to listen to classic rock. it's the blimp, frank, it's the blimp. led zeppelin and the police and pink floyd and rush. or if i'm home and it's raining and gloomy outside, it's gotta be something that's snazzy jazzy, like billie holiday. or if it's a road trip with the posse, well we must listen to chick bands, chick bands, chick bands (the Matriarch will only allow one male singer per hour, unless he's gay, at which point he has a free pass.) or on the rare occasion that i am not sleeping alone, and hence, not sleeping, (oh how rare, how very, very rare....) mazzy star or maybe joan armatrading. or darien brahm's 'wicked.' over and over. and over again. and then...oops. sorry. mind was wandering. another symptom of writer's block. failure to focus on subject matter at hand.
i was gonna write about that, but eh. you can see where it was going.
then i thought about filling everyone in on my saturday visit to shapleigh, and how amazingly well my mom is doing, (please pause now and knock on the nearest piece of wood) and of the truly fun day i had with the family. and about how we decided that this christmas we aren't buying each other gifts, but instead we're going to make homemade care packages for the patients on the sixth floor at maine med, and how that will require darlene to be a bit of a domestic goddess and do things like sew, and bake cookies. and about how that elicited a hearty laugh from corey, mchottie and the matriarch at breakfast yesterday. i mean really, they all damn near spit out their coffee at the thought of me with an apron on, or a needle and thread in my hand. ouch. i mean butches can bake, right dawn?
but no. i came up short on that one too.
mr. macrum explored the sometimes obsessive behavior of bloggers on the fantastic Lost in the Bozone...about how he spends a lot of time away from his blog thinking about what he wants to put in his blog. in essence, he wrote a brilliant post about what happens when you've got nothing to write about. yeah. sure. go ahead and show off, big guy. i see how you are.
you're not gonna get that kinda brilliance from me. at least not today. the most profound thing i can think of to say is that writer's block sucks man. that's all i've got.
ladies and gentleman, the well is dry.