24 April, 2009

Nothing to say

I was going to write a blog complaining about a bunch of stuff. The internet, communications corporations, airports, people, traffic, Seattle, office politics, etc. I could complain about any or all of these, and it would, at best, be mildly amusing. And more likely, it would be same old story from your moody blogger friend. After writing that little preamble sentence, I then thought I would write instead about how actually the world is not a bad place, and things are okay, and looking up, even. Or that I’m happy to have the things coming in the future that I have. But then I think about it, and realize that would probably be just as annoying as the complaining blog, though perhaps even more annoying, because when I become all Mr. Positive, I start to sound like I have been abducted by aliens and had an implant put in the back of my neck. Next thing you know it, black oil substance will be swirling around my eyes, like Kricek, from The X-Files.

I started to tell a story about the band, and the studio, and just deleted an entire paragraph because I decided that, too, is boring. Seems the blogger’s block is somewhat upon me again. I don’t know if I am supposed to push through this, or just live my life and wait for the inspiration to return. I had some idea the other day where I wanted to research how we use water in this country. But I started doing the Google searches, and realized that it was going to be a pain in the ass to find the type of info that I wanted to find. I was interested in knowing how much water is run down our kitchen sinks, showers, toilets, lawns, vegetable gardens, throats, factories, farms, etc. But the research that I would have needed to do got boring before I could even start to compose the story that would ultimately be boring to you, as well. So why bother?

There’s a woman sitting across from me with a large plastic bag containing no fewer than 20 bottles of various prescription medications. That is interesting to me. But I cannot possibly figure out what any of them are. Though it is interesting to note that, looking at this ~60 year old woman, I could see her being a glimpse into the future of a certain other someone whom I no longer know, who would be likely to carry large bags of drugs on an airplane with her. Looking through the bag to select just the right mind or mood-altering cocktail. Xanax? Clonazepam? Valium? How long is the flight, anyway? And in case the pills don’t knock her out, she’s got “Travel Yahtzee” to play on the plane!

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