Wednesday, October 29, 2008

The Trouble with Muses

The trouble with muses is that you have to have one. When I started writing here (again) in September, subject material presented itself in the form of hormone-driven hair growth and constipation. Or maybe I spared you the poop talk. But I had a pregnancy to discuss, dammit! I was going to bore everyone to tears with the minutia of my gestation, and the Internet was no exception!

Well, we all know how that panned out. Suffice it to say I am no longer in the mood to discuss pregnancy, nor the loss of it.

Soooo that leaves me with fewer options for inspiration. This life of mine, well it is not a life that people would want to read about, not even my own mother, who doesn’t know about my blog because she is morally opposed to the word “fuck-a-diddy” and I refuse to censor myself in such a cruel manner. My job is not particularly exciting, or even mildly interesting for that matter. Sure, I’m in school, but unless you want to read about the many ways in which a radical quadratic equation can be manipulated, I doubt you’d find I have much to say on the matter of higher education. (Fortunately, my course load in the spring includes some creative writing. I plan to make you my guinea pigs at that time.)

My boyfriend…well, he’s awesome, so I’d prefer to humiliate him as little as is possible (except to tell you that I succeeded in scaring the holy living shit out of him on Friday night when, after he forced me to watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre II and Freddy vs. Jason, I ran screaming down the hall as he was finishing up in the bathroom, and he jumped several feet in the air, turned white as a ghost, and screamed like a girl. It was awesome). And even if I did wish to humiliate him, it’s hard to work with what he gives me. Ooooh he took out the trash and did the dishes without being asked. Aaaaah he makes the bed every day. Woooo he remembered out half-anniversary. BORING. I don’t have any dogs or cats, so there are no pet-related shenanigans to report. I do have two goldfish, so I guess I could try a post about them…

Alice hogged all the goldfish food. Buggy pooped a strand twice his own length. They swam in circles. The end.

Huh, well now that I’ve crossed the goldfish post off my list, I’m kind of out of options. I could try one of those posts where I ask my loyal readers (both of you) to send me a goofy idea and I’ll take your idea and weave a fantastic short story from it. Unfortunately, I’m a little rusty in the writing department just now. The last short story (SHORT story) came from a dream I had in which everything on the planet made of plastic came alive and began to slaughter people. Creepy dream. Marginally creepy and only semi-coherent story. I believe my Jill’s response was akin to a double eye-roll.

I could resort to the blogger’s ultimate cop out: posting photos. That is, of course, if my camera was not broken all to hell. I could post my opinions regarding the current economic stich, or the political climate, but I am sick to death of thinking about all of that. Also, I’m extremely ill-informed. Some would say I’m ignorant. I prefer to think of myself as informationally challenged.

So for now, expect a lot of posts about how I have nothing to post about. Oh, and hunchback porn, naturally.