Better Now

Started this post thinking it would be short and sweet, simply, Better Now, but this weather sucks. And sucks it does. I hate cold, winter, snow, wind, sleet, freezing rain, slippery roads, mucky wet dirty soggy sloshy snow. Welcome to my new hometown folks.

Anyway, the snow did afford me the opportunity to get off my irsky and shovel, creating a little sweat and muscle soreness, so now I don't feel like the complete sloth I have been as of late. I just wrote 'as of late' because it sounded cool, and kind of English-y. Yes, this is going to be a long post about nothing.

Or should I just stop right here.

Nah, I know you're too interested in my boring life. I did read somewhere that blogs are all about vanity, and maybe they are. Maybe I have hopes of becoming a famous author someday, and having all those who have done me wrong find out how worldly and successful I've become and crawl to me trying to get back into my good graces. Fortunately, I don't think there are too many people out there who done me wrong. And if they had, I probably deserved it.

Writing, writing, writing. What's there to say. Oh, I've always wanted to be a writer. I knew I was a writer from the moment I held a crayon and scribbled on the walls. Bullshit. I hate when I read a bio on a writer, and it starts, "I always wanted to be a writer..." "It's been my lifelong dream to write..." "I must write or die." Stupid, stupid, stupid. That's what I have to say about those kind of writers. For me, and here it gets super-de-duperty corny, and I'm doing this on purpose. I've explained it like an addiction, and too bad I never saved what I had previously written about it. It's like you want to take a drink, you take a drink. You want to write, so write. And you can't help what you're about to do, you just know if you don't do it, the words will scream inside of your brain to let them out. It's like you need to be near paper, a spiral, 3x5 notecards, sharpies, bics, papermates in case something suddenly explodes from your head and you know if you don't write it down right then and there then it's lost in the abyss (which is pure white, albido, and very, very lonely) forever, except for one tiny bit that's clinging to the back of your brain (and is the creative side the left or the right, that's how dumb I am, I dont' even know) that's dangling above the abyss but fails to fall, so it haunts you forever because you know there's a part of what you wanted to write still up there, dangerously close to falling into the spiralling abyss and then, that's it.

Did anybody check out Amber Frey last night on Dateline and wouldn't she look a whole hell of a lot better with a chin-length hairdo? And, speaking of hair-dos, did ya'll notice Matt Lauer's getting a little tuftier on top?