It's late at night, for me anyway, and I've got nothing.
Any passing thought is grossly manhandled, flipped over, peeled apart, searching for anything, a kernel, a seed even, something funny that could germinate and become an actual blog. It's sad and it's pathetic, like watching a drunk man cross an icy street, you just know it's gonna end badly.
It's hard to be spontaneously fun or witty. I'm not talking to anyone, I'm just spitting things out into the vast nothingness, hoping someone will look at this and find me the least bit entertaining. Frankly, that can be exhausting at times. I'm at my best, humor-wise, when I get to bounce off of other people. It's like playing tennis against yourself, anything that goes over the net is gonna seem like a false point, anything you miss is grounds for opening a main vein. Lose:Lose.
So, you, and by you I mean "I," sit down, you make observations about squirrels going to war or your neighbors challenging you to a luge duel due to the amount of snow/ice you've had dumped on you in the past 24 hours, but nothing seems right, you're just grasping at straws.
You panic, you babble, incoherantly, about Unicorns who dream of being professional taxidermists and lima beans that want to be cole slaw. The world goes surreal, text becomes wing dings and your thoughts are interrupted by irritating drumming noises that you find are really the ten-ton pounding of your own heart against the inside of your ribcage.
Then you remember: No one reads this.
That notion is like salve on a burn, cool and refreshing. Your anonymity means the only person you are letting down is yourself, and that happens all the time!
Ah, the internet. Where everyone has a voice and that means no one is listening to mine.
*Curls up in bed and drifts off to sleep*