So, I’ve done run out of things to say. Seriously. Sometimes I lay awake in bed at night and think up the cleverest little blog posts ever. Of course, in the light of day, I can’t remember the slightest tidbit and if I do, it always sounds like pure poppycock and I can’t help but wonder if I wasn’t dreaming. I briefly consider getting up to write it down, but, dude, I need to sleep.
I’ve been reading a lot. This normally wouldn’t concern me except I’ve developed the absolute worst sleeping pattern and it just ain’t conducive to working at six a.m.
Speaking of which, while I was lying in bed last night WIDE AWAKE, listening to the wind and rain and counting the very few hours until I had to wake up, I was thinking of all those book recommendations. (By the way, I announced my selection. We’ll be starting Loving Frank on February 1st. Two people made the recommendation and I couldn’t resist.) I have the incredible urge to work my way through each suggestion and make this big ole production out of it, but let’s face it. I don’t finish anything I start.
And that there fact, this inability to follow through with anything, has become a monkey on my back. A loud, screaming, hair-pulling monkey that won’t shut the fuck up and is quickly becoming my favorite obsession. It may or may not explain my recent lack of creativity and why I’ve kept my nose buried in a book. At least while I’m reading, my total disappointment in myself is finally quieted for a bit.
(This is turning into one hell of a downer. That was so not my intention.)
So, have you heard the news? Southern California is drowning. The grounds are saturated and there are lakes where there shouldn’t be. (Instead of drive, I now paddle.) This may just be the day where all of those asinine predictions come true and we break off from the rest of the country and sink.
Right to the bottom of the Pacific.
I know it’s only been a few days, but I’ve come to the conclusion that this rain will never end, the hem of my pants will always be wet, and 45 m.p.h. will be the fastest I’ll ever drive again. Which means I’ll always be 15 minutes late for work. Which means this weather will be responsible for me losing my job and not only will I eventually be homeless, but I’ll be homeless IN THE RAIN. Awesome.
Okay, one last thing.
This season’s psycho on The Bachelor has been working AT MY HOTEL FOR THE LAST MONTH. I have yet to even see her, but hear she’s a real bitch. I admit it: I’m pretty much planning on stalking her for the rest of the season.