Once upon a time...

I had the fire
I was excited
about
this blog.
lately...
I just don't give a shit.
it's a habit,
so I keep it up.
(I'm a slave to my habits.)
I'm pretty sure I'm ready for a change of pace.
something entirely new.
I don't feel interesting or fresh anymore.
I feel rather wilted and mildewy.
I feel like a dessert--
no, a desert.
although, that wasn't much of a Freudian slip,
as we all know I'm obsessed with dessert.
anywho.
if my goddamn muse would get back from fucking truck driving,
I might find another thing or two to say.
but.
as of right now...
I just don't feel like anyone should have to read another
single
damn
word
I put out into this space of cyberosity.
mostly I feel like I've already said it all.
I mean, considering that most of my posts are seinfeld-esque,
in their content ("a blog about nothing"),
I'm actualy rather shocked that I didn't run out of things to say 2 years ago.

I think that might sound whiney.
I don't intend for it to sound that way...
I don't feel whiney, at least.
I feel...
matter of fact.

the evolution of this ole thing
has gone from silliness to sexiness and back to...
something else.
don't know what.
but I think I've lost my edge.
(for now, at least)
sometimes I feel it creeping back in from the edges
(my edge, that is. heh.)
but...
it never quite makes a come back.
stupid fucking edginess.
it's so damn fickle.
hell, I'm lucky I ever had some, I guess.
considering that I'm a small town girl
transplanted to the lamest state in the union.
as white bread as Wonder,
as average as Joe.

I'm just thinking out loud,
so to speak,
so please don't feel that it's necessary to tell me
not to quit
or that i'm not boring
or anything else
because...
I'm not in need of encouragement.
I'm in need of inspiration.
motivation
carburetion?
carbonation??
faaaack.
no, not that.
plenty of fucking at this house.
plenty of "fuck"ing, too.
plenty of screwing and laughing and living
just.
nothing intense enough to write about right now, I guess.
happiness is too boring.
how many of you really want to hear about how frighteningly perfect my life is?
come on, raise your hands, don't be shy.
oh, that's right--
NO ONE wants to hear it, so no one's raising their hands.
duh.
maybe I'm just hung up on that,
and that's why I feel so barren of words.
I don't really get "writer's block", unless I try.
and maybe I'm trying.

and maybe I'm just sick of looking inward for stuff to write.
maybe I'm sick of spinning my life into a web of words,
suited to this page.
I shouldn't be.
I couldn't be!
I think it's just winter blahs...
coming to a head, as I impatiently wait for spring.
last fall, I felt like summer was coming, rather than going.
this spring I have felt like summer is ending rather than starting.
so.
that could explain it.

so.
sooooooooooooo........
suck my toe.
all the way to Mexico, gaw-dammmmit.
and while you're there?
that's right, bitch, buy some air
and blow it
out
your underwear.

why?
cuz I said so.

UPDATE:
problem solved!
I was just standing outside
watching my husband smoke a fucking stupid cigarette,
and a thought uh-curred to me:
my impotency is being caused by several factors:
1. I am not reading enough blogs.
2. I am a fat, rolly-polly thing
(i know that doesn't seem relevant, but trust me, it is)
and
3. I am writing at the wrong time of day.
phew.
I feel much better.
cuz...
as GI Joe says...
knowing is half the battle.
too bad it's usually the easy half.
have a great tuesday,
and don't bother asking for a braless pic.
not gonna happen.
I did post some pictures of my new furniture over on buzznet, though.
now that my shutters are in, i should retake the photos but i'm waaay too lazy.
besides,
we're still waiting on the fucking kitchen table--
ooh, good idea.
note to self: fuck on kitchen table--
if it ever arrives.
ok.
happy day, kids.