I thought of a really great idea for my return to the blog arena last night when I was falling asleep. I quite clearly recall reminding myself to remember the idea, and repeating it to myself to be sure. Quite obviously, since I am biding my time here typing away, I definitely forgot about it.
Shamefully, I didn’t forget about my blog. I wish that I could say that I had forgotten about it and had since been happily cured of my internet amnesia, but really I’ve just been madly avoiding writing. I’ve considered it many times. I have been reminded oh-so-gently by my admiral boy-companion. There have been many days that I’ve been at work, staring in wonder at the automatic spring-operated Post-it dispenser and considering bloggish thoughts.
But instead of laboriously opening up a Word document, I have elected to do a mess of other things. Like getting my wisdom teeth removed and surrendering my face to the dread swell disease for a week. Or failing at job interviews and sobbing into my pleated skirt. Also procuring matrimonial engagements.
I would consider going on here, and whining about the obnoxious sweats-wearing cell-phone obsessed families in the waiting room (why is this a common theme in all waiting rooms?) or about how I want to read some fluffy news stories that aren’t at all about Obama, but I just can’t find any, but I think I’m going to stop here.
I would very much rather read this Fitzgerald story I am in the middle of, and continue my homage to the alter of procrastination.
Shamefully, I didn’t forget about my blog. I wish that I could say that I had forgotten about it and had since been happily cured of my internet amnesia, but really I’ve just been madly avoiding writing. I’ve considered it many times. I have been reminded oh-so-gently by my admiral boy-companion. There have been many days that I’ve been at work, staring in wonder at the automatic spring-operated Post-it dispenser and considering bloggish thoughts.
But instead of laboriously opening up a Word document, I have elected to do a mess of other things. Like getting my wisdom teeth removed and surrendering my face to the dread swell disease for a week. Or failing at job interviews and sobbing into my pleated skirt. Also procuring matrimonial engagements.
I would consider going on here, and whining about the obnoxious sweats-wearing cell-phone obsessed families in the waiting room (why is this a common theme in all waiting rooms?) or about how I want to read some fluffy news stories that aren’t at all about Obama, but I just can’t find any, but I think I’m going to stop here.
I would very much rather read this Fitzgerald story I am in the middle of, and continue my homage to the alter of procrastination.
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UPDATE !
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