Goddamnit.
On a lark (read: performance-anxiety-writers-block-complete-lack-of-creativity) I attempted to shuffle through the random ticker of
blogs
(still.hate.that.word).
Jesus. Oh god. Please no. Please lord whose name I take freely in vain, tell me a life of Cat of the Day pictures and tricycles and Christmas trees do not, under any circumstances, await me or I will end it all immediately if not sooner, really. Not that there's anything wrong with gratuitous cat shots and endearing stories about visiting the pumpkin patch on your way to buy Johnny's First F-ing Douglass Fir.
I'm just not a very endearing kind of person.
Nor am I, apparently, any kind of unusual. We all, every single one of us, just want to express ourselves, man. We just want to put the clutter of our brains into the neat spaces of letters and paragraphs.
Kitty-fucking-cat pictures and all.
On a lark (read: performance-anxiety-writers-block-complete-lack-of-creativity) I attempted to shuffle through the random ticker of
blogs
(still.hate.that.word).
Jesus. Oh god. Please no. Please lord whose name I take freely in vain, tell me a life of Cat of the Day pictures and tricycles and Christmas trees do not, under any circumstances, await me or I will end it all immediately if not sooner, really. Not that there's anything wrong with gratuitous cat shots and endearing stories about visiting the pumpkin patch on your way to buy Johnny's First F-ing Douglass Fir.
I'm just not a very endearing kind of person.
Nor am I, apparently, any kind of unusual. We all, every single one of us, just want to express ourselves, man. We just want to put the clutter of our brains into the neat spaces of letters and paragraphs.
Kitty-fucking-cat pictures and all.
