I’ve been a little MIA. When one’s hobby suddenly turns into one’s livelihood, the energy and creativity needed to enact said hobby poofs into thin air. So writing for pleasure lately has become something that only happens in my brain. I write all KINDS of fascinating GGP sh*t in my head. But my fingers have just plum run out of spots on the keyboard dance card.
Things I think to blog about as I go through my day are mundane, fleeting and, usually, downright silly.
Like. I own grown-up Monday, Wednesday and Friday underwear – drawers that actually say Monday, Wednesday, and Friday on them. The Wednesday ones are labeled “Workout Wednesday” and come complete with little black dumbbells. So every Wednesday I am compelled to dig through my dresser and put them on when I go to the gym. Why should you know this? I have no idea. And don’t bother to wonder what Monday’s and Friday’s alliterative undies might dictate, or what happened to Tuesdays and Thursdays for that matter, because I couldn’t even tell you. Wednesdays are all I care about.
And now that putting gas in a car is a regular chore, I forthelifeofme can’t understand why spurting in those last few drops to round the charge to a figure that doesn’t include pennies, is bad for the environment. Or is that just one of those rumors I missed becoming false because I haven’t had a car in 10 years?
And I love, love, love imitation crabmeat. I want to write a whole post about fake crab in Dr. Seuss speak. Because when I fix and eat it, it’s actually what is running through my thoughts. I love you in a wrap, I love that you don’t crack, I love you in a snap, after a nap or on my lap. What do you think about that?
And now I will go write some corporateblahgittyblah jargon and BILL people for it! Mwah ah ah. Maybe I can afford to buy some new under garments that don’t have words on them soon. It’s really affecting my love life.
Not Pictured: Pance’s Underwear (seriously, what were you expecting?!?)