I’ve lost count of how many posts I’ve started but not finished.
Just now, I was writing about the ridiculous situation of being more or less trapped in an office Friday while two utterly clueless guys extoled the virtues of mail order brides and prostitution under the guise of “advice about women”. The sheer stupidity of their argument and the surreality of the entire, one-sided conversation struck me as so bizarre that it was almost funny, at the time, but when I tried to write it, the whole thing just seemed, well, sad.
I’m not sure what’s going on with me this week, but everything seems to feel that way. Maybe it’s just the severe lack of cash-flow that’s got me down, or the gray weather, but everything seems sort of bland today. No food seems to sound appealing to my tastebuds, nothing on television seems interesting enough to really watch, none of the books I have in my queue are all that compelling, and nothing that comes to mind to write seems worth the effort. Even this almost seems like a waste of time.
I have dozens of posts that are either half-done or done, but never seem right to post, in my blog queue. I have some that are old and, though they were half-decent writing at the time, are so far detached from where I am today, that they don’t seem right to post without heavy editing. But, that editing never seems quite right, either. I suppose, I should just delete them all, but, for some reason, that’s hard to do.
I don’t know what’s up, but if I post a little less frequently this week, or month, that’s what’s going on, and why.