Ducks and Kittens. I have nothing to say. Just ducks and kittens, aren’t they cute? This is the best I can come up with. I have received a lobotomy that I can’t recall.
This is how I feel sometimes, like tonight. I no longer feel all fired up and ready to go, full of ideas and inspiration and wanting to share myself with the world. I don’t suppose this makes any sense but I would like to die without going through the massive inconvenience of actually dying, or, better put, I would like to put everything on hold for a bit. That actually comes a lot closer to the truth (so all my friends and relatives are permitted a sigh of relief). I feel all tapped out. This is often the plight of those of us who work hard all day long. I love my work, but I often feel drained after I get home, just a sack of aches and pains. It makes it easy for me to let my creativity slide. I have quit at other times in my life and it was never satisfying. Nevertheless that aimless emptiness has it’s appeal. It almost makes me want to watch 30Rock along with every other empty headed hard working American. I may even vote for Mitt Romney. Barack Obama makes me think and I just want to take a break. Romney just wants me to trust him. But, no, I really don’t want to do anything, screw voting, screw mindless entertainment. I am in such a pitiful state that I don’t even find Margaret Cho funny anymore. I’m a spud, and all my eyes are closed.
I don’t even want to be writing this right now. I should go to bed, I need to get up early. But something compelled me to type out this desperate plea for inspiration, affirmation, and a reason to get up tomorrow morning. I don’t have anything to say anymore. It is as if I have taken stupid pills. (Yes, I know, that was a pretty lame sentence, but it is the best I can do, my wit has left me. I should write speeches for Mitt Romney.) I am no longer in love. Yes. And that is the worst of it. I am sick of Stock Photo Woman. There!! I have said it. Some of you may say ‘Who the hell is stock photo woman?’ and I haven’t the energy to clue you in. It’s just this thing I did, and now I just don’t care about it anymore.) Maintaining my blogs feels like a chore. I just want to be a spud. That fits my pay grade.
Perhaps all this will pass, or maybe I will pack it all in. Finis. That’s all folks! Nothing more to say.
Or maybe I’m just tired.
If you see more posts in the future you will know that somehow I managed to pull myself out of this rut. But I am worried. I feel pains in my chest and I worry, I feel dizzy at times and I worry. I worry a lot and I worry about that. I might not be around all that much longer. No, not suicide, just an old man taking his last walk. Cardiac arrest. These are my morbid thoughts on this night. Is this spud about to be peeled? Or am I just being dramatic? All of the thrill I felt after having my eyesight restored has left me. I take it for granted. Am I an ungrateful dolt? You bet. I don’t deserve this happiness that I refuse to recognize as happiness. I am already sick of this pity party that I have written. But I am sure many of you out there in cyberland share these feelings from time to time, many of you bloggers often feel like packing it in, and never blogging again. So know that you aren’t alone. If I can crank this shit out so can you! So….sad to say, I will probably soldier on and continue my stupid blog with my stupid observations about my stupid life in this stupid world. Because the alternative is worse. So now I will shut off my motor functions and my brain and become spudlike until another working day raises me from my self-made grave.