So here we are. I’m sitting here on a Sunday, kicking back with a beer and the Bucs game, pot roast in the slow cooker, NPR in the recent past, while outside, Autumn sits cowering in the corner, whimpering, asking Abusive Asshole Summer when it can come out.
And I’m texting Thing 1 about making a coat rack out of bananas and hammers, and I feel a twinge of regret for this, the long-neglected blog.
And I’m (relatively) caught up on freelance assignments, with some outstanding income that’s making me feel (however temporarily) kinda secure in this stupid freelance life.
And I’ve developed an admirable writing habit that’s mired of late between actual work assignments that feel very much like work, and personal projects that also feel like work with an extra dose of self-indulgence.
And I had a dream last night about writing a poem about “putting my parents in the zoo,” and I was like, “Yeah, I should do that.”
And if I can ever get past these occasional, self-indulgent, “Long time, no blog!” posts, I might actually produce something amusing that my friends would enjoy, instead of spending all my time focused on writing things intended for people I’ll never meet.
And I think my parents would really like the zoo, honestly.
And I’m tired of not being excited by my BananaHammer FB notices, or the random views I get because somebody googled “tequila IV.”
And I need a place to go every time I think I should do a thread on Twitter.
And I really, really, really enjoyed my little foray into post-apocalyptic fiction, but I never quite got comfortable with it. (Hence its disappearance from this site.) (Available upon request.) (…maybe.)
And I really, seriously, need to figure out a way to talk/write about myself without cringing with self-consciousness. (Ugh, self-indulgent. Ugh, writing about writing. Ugh, ugh, ugh.)
And come to think of it, I put my sisters in the zoo, too. Do they even let you make coat racks at the zoo?
Anyway, maybe this’ll continue. Maybe next week this space will feature an amusing anecdote about dive bars, or a tirade about language, or a poem about angry neuroses set to the tune of a song by one of America’s most beloved Mid-Century satirical musicians.
Or maybe there’ll be a poem about familial zoo-placement. Or maybe a picture of a handmade coat rack.
…or maybe it’s 2019 and this is still the most recent post on this site. I dunno. We shall see.