Writer's block and talk, talk, talk

Is it possible to suffer from writer’s block if you’re not a real writer, or does the mere act of writing, by definition, classify you as a writer and, therefore, leave you susceptible to the condition?

Anyway, I guess I have it. I mean, I have lots to talk about. But I lack commitment to any one subject. Religion, for instance, is a cool topic about which I have lots to say, but, in my early “career” as a blogess, I don’t think I have as yet achieved the level of balls-to-the-wallness required for me to begin to adequately broach that subject. Ditto politics, though I will let you in on a not-so-well-hidden secret and tell you that I feel more than a bit uncomfortable in this dedicated Red State from time to time. “Legalize It!” and “Gay Pride!” are not sentiments that tend to go over very well here, as I’ve discovered during more than one uncomfortable lunchtime conversation at the workplace. Apparently, my coworkers haven’t, in fact, ever been enraptured by a 6’7” tall drag queen in 8” platform stilettos or totally called that 1-800 number and bought a Euro Chopper when high. My bad.

We discussed fashion last time, and I used 1500 words to tell you that getting old blows.

I have children. We could talk about that, but in the 200,000 year existence of Homo sapiens, I really don’t think I have anything new to bring to the table. At the very least, nothing that Dooce couldn’t say with more aplomb.

So what’s left?

Talk of global warming and health and all that other hippie stuff just leaves me feeling depressed and guilty. Besides, righting either of those wrongs in my own life would pose a direct affront to my personal philosophy of “Anything worth doing better damn well have an easy way to do it.”

So……….*whistle, whistle, crickets*

Ahem. I have a crick in my neck. Yes, that’s right. I said C-R-I-C-K. No, I don’t have any damn idea as to how that should really be spelled. Probably, it shouldn’t be spelled at all. Can you just give me a hand with it or something?

La la la la la la la. Oh, yeah. *Cough* Blog. Blog, blog, blog, blog. That sounds like some big sea creature with a disproportionately large mouth. Or like a big ugly toad or something.

Focus, focus. Got some Adderall? Just IMAGINE the kind of manic bullshit I could produce with some of that stuff! Wow.

Sooooooooo. Yeah, nope. Doesn’t look like I am ever actually gonna come up with something to say after all. Ha!

Really, though—isn’t that pretty much what the entire internet is anyway? A bunch of people sitting around with nothing in particular to say, or nothing important to say, but saying it as loudly as possible, or with conviction, vim, and vigor?

In my defense, at least I’m quiet about it. I mean, what? There are maybe two or three of you who will ever see this damned thing? And conviction, vim, and vigor are qualities that I have never really possessed. So that makes it better, doesn’t it? Saying a bunch of nothing but thinking it’s the revolutionary shit-of-the-world that has never ever in the history of mankind been uttered in so effing PERFECT a way—that’s kind of embarrassing, right? Like, awww! I want to crawl through your pipeline and hug your geeky ass right now! But saying a bunch of meaningless shit and acknowledging that it IS meaningless shit……….that right there is fucking noble.

Or am I just a narcissist like the rest of ‘em?

Yours,

Meg, who hopes that you will nominate her for Most Fucking Noble Person in the World (Wide Web) if the omnipotent 'they' ever create an award for such a thing