Monday, May 3, 2010
No, really, it is. For me, anyway. See, here’s the thing… There are numerous topics that I would love to sound off on: women who have no idea that they are pregnant until their baby plops out while they are using the loo, the creepy weight-gain fetishists who keep adding my work on deviantART to their favourites (what the fuck is sexy about a self-deprecating caricature of myself nesting and crying over Star Wars? Seriously?), Tetsuya Nomura and his unnatural obsession with designing characters that have way too many zippers, the Twilight craze and why Rpatz looks like a foot…
There are so many thoughts running through my mind but for some reason, despite being a former freelance fucking writer, I find myself unable to type a coherent sentence about anything other than my inability to type a coherent sentence. Instead, all I can do is sit on my sofa and vegetate after a long, tiring day of child-rearing, drinking – no, guzzling – Mountain Dew like it’s going out of style and wondering when Munchkin is going to start talking, since her shouts of “DAT,” while amusing, are starting to frustrate me ever so slightly. (“Can you say ‘milk?’” “DAT!!”) I sigh and wonder if Midget will be a little more willing to listen to me tomorrow than she was today. Then I break out my laptop in the hopes that I will be able to write something… and instead of opening Word, I click on Firefox and waste my time reading the addictive articles on cracked.com while my husband winds down from a long day of work while periodically flicking one of my boobs because that’s how us married folk communicate: by flicking boobs because it is dead sexy.
Wait, what was I talking about?
Oh, yeah, writing about shit, and how I can’t seem to get it done no matter how hard I try. Is that a sign? That despite my random tirades to my husband and friends, my thoughts just get stopped up and I end up wondering if there’s some kind of brain laxative I can take to get this shit flowing appropriately?
For now, I am going to do what I do best after hours: eat. There is some damn fine homemade shrimp pasta in the microwave right this second, and it is calling me. Maybe some food will help the creative process…?