I come here often you know. I come here and I stare at this page and I think I ought to write something. I should make a small attempt to be funny, to be profound, to attempt to be creative and interesting and then I don't. I type out a few things and delete them. I think of stories I wanted to tell but they all seem too boring or too dull or too something.
And so I head back to the laundry or to the fridge or to cleaning out the catbox (I told you the stories would be dull) and I avoid the fact that I have a place to air the stuff in my head.
The truth is that it's been such an insane summer that it's hard to sort the stuff in my head into neat categories or paragraphs or sweet snippets full of witty stuff that would cheer your day. And so I don't write. I feel awful about it. I feel awful that this has become one of millions of dusty blogs left to clog the internet with nothing useful to say.
I feel badly about it. I do.
(there is no witty ending to this post....sorry about that)
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