Writer's Block

I haven't had much luck in finding things to write about lately. I know that can be frustrating for those of you who are interested in what's happening in my life. I find that I go through cycles of blogging. Sometimes I've got stuff to say and do almost every night, or at least every other night. And then there are times (like now, I suppose) where I can go almost a week and not find anything that I want to get into.

I guess this is the flaw of my blogging style. I tend to react to things--give my opinions on issues, TV shows, stuff I read and hear--rather than write about stuff that I am personally experiencing. It is also a problem that (let's face it) my life is defined by routine and doesn't vary a heck of a lot from day to day to day to day to . . .

And usually, that suits me just fine. Like a Big Mac or the Italian Feast at Shoneys, you know what you are going to get, you expect it, you like it, it fills you up, and you move on. Sometimes days (or weeks) are like that. I've got my morning routine, my parental routine, my work routine, my evening/dinner/bedtime/TV & reading routine. I've got my weekend routine--cartoons (probably at 6:30 AM!!), breakfast, shower, laundry, grass cutting, playing with kids, more laundry, church on Sunday, occasional forays into social events. It's all very predictable and all very ordinary and not worth going into that often. And since MOST of my readers are there for 65% of it, they don't need to read it again.

So, this is another one of those "Why do I bother?" posts--and that is pretty routine as well.

But, I guess I could talk about the awful experience I had this weekend. It wasn't Chernobyl awful, certainly, but in comparison to my normal routine, it did stand out.

I don't think I want to relive it all right now and maybe I'd rather go to bed and read Kitchen Confidential (Hi, Flipper!) instead. Suffice it to say that both Sarah and Grace weren't in a very cooperative or attentive mood this past weekend and ALSO consider that Lynda and I (despite tons of evidence and experience to the contrary) attempted to do some minor home repairs.

I'll leave it up to your imagination as to what we were attempting to do, what exactly went wrong, and why hope continues to spring eternal when it comes to us and do-it-yourself. (Must be the Christian hope in salvation or something.)

Anyway, the girls pissed us off a lot (they're 5 and 2!!), the d-i-y crapped out and we wasted more than we should of the two prettiest days we've seen in about two weeks.

So you can see why I don't want to get into it.

But, I'm trying to get back on the blogging horse. Maybe I'll write tomorrow about tonight's Alias series finale. Maybe I'll reflect on how there were many flashbacks to Sydney's past, but not a one of them featured latex dresses of any color. There was a Francie sighting and there was plenty of Sark . . . but in the end it was a happy ending? I guess Sydney deserves happiness, since she's a fictional character that's had a lot of sad things dumped on her in her time. I bet Harry Potter wishes he gets the same.

So, since I'm clearly rambling and trying my best to imitate Joyce-ian stream of consciousness crap right now, I'll end by pointing you one of the final installments in The Authority Speaks over on Why Won't You Write?! Soon, all my crappy sports columns will be resurrected and like Sloan's Rambaldi quest, it will end, not with a bang, but with a whimper. . .