I want to say something about the bleak days of January. But damn it, that’s a hard thing to do when all you want to do is lie on your couch in a fleece space suit watching Investigation Discovery and tossing Trader Joes’ Cheese puffs into your food hole.
I am in a blah mood.
The sky is white. My blouse is grey. The temperature is neither cool nor warm and there does not appear to be a breeze of any sort blowing. I’m in no mood for this day, which is to say that I am in no mood. I lack affect or ambition. I had a protein bar and coffee for breakfast, which is my basic regular-unleaded fuel for the day – the minimum required to keep me alive.
It’s the anniversary of September 11, which is always tinged with sadness. Maybe that’s contributing to the greyness. I don’t know.
I think I’ll just have to be at peace with the idea that today is not destined for greatness. It’s a blah day. And I feel ok.
Who am I why am I here and what does it all mean and should this be punctuated?
Other people blog about all of the fabulous, exciting sex that is apparently waiting to be plucked from the tree of life. I should be a cougar, right? I should be sitting at the end of a bar ordering rusty nails and wooing the next generation of Benjamin Braddocks into my lady lair. Why doesn’t that appeal to me? Am I neutered now? Did that happen? Have I become some sort of asexual freak? Aagh. I need to go red lipstick and shiny jumpsuit shopping tomorrow. This shit isn’t funny any more. Continue reading