And today that is changing. I have been too long in an uncreative rut. I haven't been able to write. I haven't drawn a single doodle in the corner of a page. I've had dreams, yes I have, but no crazy otherworldly post-apocalyptic movie-like stuff that's worth even talking about. Just mundane topics like adopting a kitten... which is not happening in real life (but in dream world it's damn cute). And most frustratingly of all is that I CAN'T EVEN READ. No seriously, I haven't been able to pick up a book in weeks. What does reading have to do with creativity, you ask? A LOT. I have only been able to read nonfiction. UGH. I can only take so much fucking Harper's at a time. I can't even get into "The Crying of Lot 49" because apparently reading comedic memoirs by Tina Fey ruined me. Bitch. (Just kidding, Tina, you're magificent.)
Ok but seriously, I think the only reason I'm writing is because I'm on my fourth glass of wine and it's only 5:00 and I need some sort of creative outlet because my boyfriend is taking an MCAT practice test and I have to be quiet. And this was nice up until this moment, when I realized, "I don't want to watch 'Weeds' anymore and I don't want to clean my room!" Because I am a child like that. I've had a good day though. I did yoga. At 10:30 in the morning! ON A SUNDAY. That is a very serious accomplishment. And I bought bagels so I could make my favorite weekend treat, a toasted everything bagel with scallion cream cheese and tomato slices loaded with salt and pepper. DELICIOUS. Then the boyfriend and I watched one episode of "Mad Men" (depressing!) and then I had a little spa day with a Queen Helene mint julep face mask (retro!) and an olive oil manicure (refreshing!) and an experiment with hideous dark blue nail polish (depressing again!) that I'm too lazy to take off (surprise!) and think I should just pretend I like (dammit!). But then I decided to camp out on the couch and just WATCH TV BECAUSE I CAN so that brought me back to "Weeds" on Netflix and then I realized I had half a bottle of Sonoma wine left over and now HERE I AM.
Note how my punctuation and capitalization just goes buck wild.... None of that quiet contemplative philosophical bullshit to be found here, people! Hell no, let's not talk about books when we can ramble about NOTHING. And about how I have NOTHING to say. Ok that sounds depressing, and it's really not, I'm just, like I said before, in an uncreative rut. And getting words on a page feels good. It feels like breathing deeply into a yoga position, like this morning. It feels like taking a giant bite of a bagel laden with your favorite things in the world. It feels like taking a long, slow sip of wine and feeling it warm you through and through. It feels like looking out your window and seeing nothing but a glowing, opaque, gray sky and thinking, "I'm okay with the clouds, because I have nowhere to be, nothing to do, and I am perfectly content to stay inside and type, type, type away..."
Perhaps I'll resuscitate this stupid blog after all. I mean, hell, it's been four months. Seems like I ought to give it a shot, right? Well, here's the beginning. Cheers.