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My stream of consiousness writing was better in college. Or at least I’ll pretend it was.

20 Jan 2010 (Wed)

I’ve been unable to write for a week. I honestly have nothing in my brain right now besides tedium, generalized anxiety, and a metric crapload of song lyrics which I imagine they will find lying in my coffin where my brain used to be long after the rest of me has disintegrated.

But I do have a spare hour, so I just decided to sit down, stare at the screen and see what happens.

What I did first: I stared at the screen for two minutes listening to WOXY (Aloha’s “Moonless March,” if you prefer specifics).
Then I talked myself out of answering two new non-urgent e-mails.
Then I resisted the urge to change all of the application icons on my dock.
Then I thought maybe I should write something about Haiti… but soon realized I don’t have anything to say about Haiti that someone twice as eloquent, and three million times more influential than I, hasn’t already said.
Then WOXY played Weezer’s “El Scorcho,” and it made me smile, so I just sat listening some more.
Then I remembered that Freelance Whales are apparently playing downtown tomorrow night, and I got sad because I recently discovered I love that band, but I can’t afford to see a show, so I don’t even bother to look at the schedules anymore, but I think We Love DC or Brightest Young Things posted the Freelance Whales show on Twitter, and that’s how I heard the news.
Then I wondered how much of my day I might get back if I killed my Twitter account.
Then I decided to make a conscious effort to use Twitter less; especially the part where I check the backlog of tweets to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Who cares if I miss something? So I miss something: I really can’t know about everything all the time. Several thousand developers of mobile software applications would like me to believe otherwise, but I don’t think I should listen to them anymore. My willingness to go into information overload ensures they get a paycheck; whereas I am only ensured one more night of insomnia and an eye-strain headache.
Then I started writing this post. And now we’re back to the beginning.

Oh, I also Googled “writing topics for bloggers” but to be honest, the resulting suggestions were trite, or useless, or both. No one cares about my favorite book, my favorite song, or what famous people I’d want to have lunch with. No one cares about this blog post, either, but at least I’m not pretending they do and wasting my time crafting reviews of books and songs and posts wherein I wonder if Shakespeare counts as one person, or as the dozen-odd people some scholars think he may have been…

There. That’s as good as you get on a Wednesday in January, Internet. Deal with it.

~ r.

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