Good God. Where's My Muse???
For real. I haven't been inspired much of late and it is distressing. So, I'm subscribing to the age old method of writing when you have nothing to write about.
....
Ok, I literally just sat there for about a minute, had a sip of coffee and realized, oops. I'm supposed to be fucking WRITING something.
Yup, zoned out just then too.
It's almost as if the cold has frozen me into apathy. I can't muster the energy to express my shock upon learning of an excommunication from the Catholic Church as late as 1988. In the United States no less!
Fun Fact: Divorced and remarried folk cannot receive Holy Communion. Unless they've received special dispensation from the Holy See (read: The Vatican) in the form of an annulment. So much for changing with the times, eh Catholicism?
I can't bring myself to talk about my Adventures in Cake Baking yesterday when I managed to MacGuyver together from scratch, a German Chocolate cake in a kitchen/dining room/living room space with no counter space save a small table, a small butcher-block situation from Ikea and a kitchen chair.
It's too much to ask me to share with you my thoughts on ...I can't even remember what I was going to write here.
My coffee is on its way to getting cold.
There's a passage in 1984 that goes into great detail about the taste and texture of the gin they drink.
One word stands out: Oily.
I could swear the coffee is described that way. I'm not quite sure what that would taste like. And I wonder if sometimes, I am drinking oily coffee.
To that end, Grapes of Wrath is one of the best books in terms of sense memory/sense recall. Seriously. Check it out. And then tell me if you can't smell the biscuits or coffee or fried ham Ma Joad cooks up in the boxcar they're living in at one point.
I did a term paper on Ma Joad in high school. I can't remember what the thesis was.
I've been reading "The Autobiography of Henry XIII". It's about a billion pages long, and after reading and re-reading Phillipa Gregory's take on all things Henry/Katherine/Mary/Elizabeth, I think I officially know more about the Tudor Dynasty than any one person not wearing tweed and elbow patches and smelling of moth balls should. Go ahead, ask me a question.
After watching the first episode of Breaking Bad, I was plagued with nightmares about Meth Labs all night.
I wish I knew how to ride a motorcycle. I hope to one day own a Vespa and then move up from there.
I want to end this somehow. I'm not sure how. The whole entry is crap anyway, but maybe it will point me towards more interesting fare at some point.
We'll see.
Oh, that was good.
....
Ok, I literally just sat there for about a minute, had a sip of coffee and realized, oops. I'm supposed to be fucking WRITING something.
Yup, zoned out just then too.
It's almost as if the cold has frozen me into apathy. I can't muster the energy to express my shock upon learning of an excommunication from the Catholic Church as late as 1988. In the United States no less!
Fun Fact: Divorced and remarried folk cannot receive Holy Communion. Unless they've received special dispensation from the Holy See (read: The Vatican) in the form of an annulment. So much for changing with the times, eh Catholicism?
I can't bring myself to talk about my Adventures in Cake Baking yesterday when I managed to MacGuyver together from scratch, a German Chocolate cake in a kitchen/dining room/living room space with no counter space save a small table, a small butcher-block situation from Ikea and a kitchen chair.
It's too much to ask me to share with you my thoughts on ...I can't even remember what I was going to write here.
My coffee is on its way to getting cold.
There's a passage in 1984 that goes into great detail about the taste and texture of the gin they drink.
One word stands out: Oily.
I could swear the coffee is described that way. I'm not quite sure what that would taste like. And I wonder if sometimes, I am drinking oily coffee.
To that end, Grapes of Wrath is one of the best books in terms of sense memory/sense recall. Seriously. Check it out. And then tell me if you can't smell the biscuits or coffee or fried ham Ma Joad cooks up in the boxcar they're living in at one point.
I did a term paper on Ma Joad in high school. I can't remember what the thesis was.
I've been reading "The Autobiography of Henry XIII". It's about a billion pages long, and after reading and re-reading Phillipa Gregory's take on all things Henry/Katherine/Mary/Elizabeth, I think I officially know more about the Tudor Dynasty than any one person not wearing tweed and elbow patches and smelling of moth balls should. Go ahead, ask me a question.
After watching the first episode of Breaking Bad, I was plagued with nightmares about Meth Labs all night.
I wish I knew how to ride a motorcycle. I hope to one day own a Vespa and then move up from there.
I want to end this somehow. I'm not sure how. The whole entry is crap anyway, but maybe it will point me towards more interesting fare at some point.
We'll see.
Oh, that was good.
posted by LC Greenwood at 2:18 PM
4 Comments:
Jeez, Louise!
For once, why don't you tell your readers the WHOLE story?!?
You only read "The Autobiography of Henry XIII" when you're in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet!
That's right, folks.
And how do I know this? Because, recently, whilst resting my derrière upon that same exact toilet, guess what I found lying on the floor below below the (nearly depleted) roll of toilet paper?
Uh-huh!
I don't only read it in the bathroom. Books ARE portable, you know.
"Once a bathroom book, always a bathroom book." - ancient Cantonese proverb
Also, you might want to check your manners. It is never polite to make public a lady's WC habits. It's kind of, well, Ew.
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