A Glimpse Inside the Mind of Your Blogger
Suddenly awake. Checks the time.
What a dream.
What would Freud say, I wonder.
Don’t even go there, Jim.
What day is it?
Where the heck are are my glasses?
COFFEE COFFEE COFFEE.
Okay okay okay.
Oh baby, that’s sooooo good.
Scanning the headlines.
Ugh. Paul Ryan. And look, it’s Putin and Assad shaking hands. Where the heck’s Marty Scorsese when we need him? It’s Goodfellas redux. “You’re really funny.” “How the f–k am I funny? What the f–k is so funny about me?” They probably shot each other at the end of their meeting.
Op-ed on Ted Cruz. Sigh. Tell me something I don’t know, Frank Bruni. Why do I read this stuff. So, so depressing. Geez, it’s dark outside. When’s daylight savings? Or is that what we have now? I can never remember. Maybe I never knew.
I should grade those papers. I hate grading papers.
Tap tap tap on computer keyboard.
I still don’t understand these stats at Traces. Three visitors, seven page views. That can’t be right. Anyway, thoughts, Jim, on what to write about. Come on come on come on.
Nothing. I got nothing. Nada. Zero. Zilch. Zilch? No time for etymologies.
Just free associate. First words that occur to you. You always think of something.
Fluffernutter. Elephant Man. Potty training. Harry Potter. Barnacle. Barney. Barney Fife. Aunt Bee. Bees. Beeswax. None of your beeswax. Mind your own business. Mind your Ps and Qs. Peas. Visualize Whirled Peas. Whorled. World.
Maybe it’s time to stop blogging? You tell yourself that almost every day, Jim. And look at you. Still here.