Why I Don't Write More
Every day (or, at least every day I work) I look at Worryville and a.) am mad because no one writes here, b.) think to myself that this makes me an enormous hypocrite, c.) vow to self that I will write something.
Damn it.
As soon as I can think of anything worth writing about.
Or as soon as I have an amusing anecdote to share. Something involving a missing heiress and a fortune in stolen fois gras, or Russians and drinking vodka, throwing our glasses in to the fireplace and vowing undying friendship, or llamas and their gods.
Or the next time that something makes me angry enough to rant on and on about our government and their government and us and them and the Army Corps of Engineers and the price of just about everything that I want (Like the Deadwood season two box set. Fuck you again HBO.), and health care and everything else. But mostly my anger these last few weeks is of the heavy, strength killing type.
Or the next time I see or read or hear something that I feel must be seen or read or heard by others.
Or when I have a food related experience worth sharing.
Actually I did have a fantastic meal at New Rebozo on Madison last week and I still didn't care enough to tell you how great it was and make you envious of my good fortune in having it.
So I must be dead.
Poor me.
Please send flowers.
Damn it.
As soon as I can think of anything worth writing about.
Or as soon as I have an amusing anecdote to share. Something involving a missing heiress and a fortune in stolen fois gras, or Russians and drinking vodka, throwing our glasses in to the fireplace and vowing undying friendship, or llamas and their gods.
Or the next time that something makes me angry enough to rant on and on about our government and their government and us and them and the Army Corps of Engineers and the price of just about everything that I want (Like the Deadwood season two box set. Fuck you again HBO.), and health care and everything else. But mostly my anger these last few weeks is of the heavy, strength killing type.
Or the next time I see or read or hear something that I feel must be seen or read or heard by others.
Or when I have a food related experience worth sharing.
Actually I did have a fantastic meal at New Rebozo on Madison last week and I still didn't care enough to tell you how great it was and make you envious of my good fortune in having it.
So I must be dead.
Poor me.
Please send flowers.
posted by misreall at 2:27 PM
2 Comments:
So you're worried about not posting to Worryville?
[twirls handlebar mustache]
Meh. Don't worry about it.
Let me give you an analogy: Today I'm installing software on what's to be my new workstation. Now the boss doesn't care that I'm doing this, and I'm installing software that he probably wouldn't like being on here, but there are Canadians who don't even *own* a computer, so I'm really installing this software for them, after a fashion. But I'm also doing it for my "brothers" in Puerto Rico and the Netherlands, which I hear can get quite dark at night.
And that's where babies come from. A cold, dark place at night.
Can you dig it?
Actually, I am more worried about my extremely stale and bootless state of mind and spirit which is leading me to not post anything.
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