There’s nothing like a rough night’s sleep + a long list of excuses to put off writing to really make you put off writing. Writing more wasn’t even a New Year’s resolution, but I’m holding onto the fact that this still could be the Something I do in 2015 that here I am. Writing. And reminding myself why it was exactly that I wanted to write more in the first place. Although “write more” implies that there was some sort of writing taking place and, well, that’s laughable. But then I was talking to my mom whose incredibly awful memory is just one of the many awesome things I inherited from her- along with social ineptitude and a complete lack of patience for stupidity and bad drivers- and we both decided that we should start journaling. Our conversation went something like this: her asking me a question about something that happened recently and me not remembering because neither one of us can remember anything and then both of us agreeing that we should write shit down because then, maybe, we’d remember. (Miracles do happen.) So I decided to start blogging again. Because it’s 2015 and who uses pen and paper anymore? But then I had a terrible night’s sleep and when I got home I found a clean pair of socks which meant I could put off laundry for one more day and I promptly zoned out in front of Modern Family for an hour before I finally kicked my shoes off and reached for my laptop and gave into the tiny, irritating man inside my brain that keeps reminding me that if I write something then that would be every other night since the 1st of the year that I posted something and this could be SOMETHING. Truth is, this is 300 words of nothing. But it’s still something.