2016.08.15 This Is Silly

I honestly can't seem to make myself write anything. Which is silly because of all the things worth talking about. Yet, because I don't feel like talking about them - or that I couldn't do justice to the talking about them that I'd prefer to immortalize - I'm paralyzed with inhibition.

Another Massetin Vignette is overdue, but I'm all 'meh' about it. Same with the half-dozen other writing projects also lying fallow.

All sorts of cute parenting insights are fresh and creamy, but I feel like I risk emotional diabetes if I do much more of that.

Work! Oh, my fucking god, all the work thoughts I could purge. But, yeah, no. That would make it worse. And, also, not so ready to share.

Car thoughts are, well, weak lately. I think about cars, but it's a tad repetitive at the moment. Hardly what I'd like to reread later.

There's also a non-trivial portion of my brain given to mountain bike considerations. Holy shit that's boring.

Ship-of-Fools - too pathetic to write about. What is there left to gripe about Bookface? The 'Grams are hardly worth mentioning.

Woeful family ailments. Yeah, not at this time.

Something funny, perhaps? Lots of funny things happen. Like stuff involving spiders. Or bodily functions. Yep. So hilarious. Then you write them down, and they're just not so funny any more.

Politics. Fuck me.

Yep. First World problems are a real headache.