This is a total C U Next Tuesday kind of post. Except it’s not next Tuesday but this Tuesday, i.e. it’s a bitch and—oh! Happy New Year!
See, something’s fallen flat in the land of Petunia and it sure as hell ‘aint my stomach. I am 18 weeks pregnant and uninspired. Tired. For days now I have paused over a post centered around this video about dent removal.
And while it is kinda’ super awesome and I am for sure buying some canned air just for Bryan’s truck it begs the question: really? Dent Removal? Because that’s all I got these days. Which is how I imagine men must feel when they can’t get it up. Soft and sleepy, a little bit defensive. So? If only there were a little blue pill for writers needing inspiration, canned air for those that can no longer breathe.
Because then I read this article about how blogs are dead. And maybe it came to my attention too close to the news of thousands of birds dropping dead from the sky (not to mention the fish), but I started to wonder if it wasn’t true. Is blogging dead, dying, falling from the www heavy with too many characters? Tell me the truth now: do you read as many blogs as you used to?
To close out this peppy first post of the year I will tell you that the other day I saw the newspaper headline The Year We Stopped Talking. Which seemed like a lovely title to a book that needs to be written about something that has been written a thousand times before, because that’s all we humans ever do is talk and then stop. The Year We What? Is it an omen, the end of days with fish falling from the sky and birds beaching themselves on shore? Or is this the ramblings of hormones gone amok, the same ones that have turned the palms of my hands into roadmaps, visible blue veins going somewhere off the beaten track?