Writers block happens. It’s happening now.
Just last night I’m tempted to write a long pseudo-cathartic entry. The hemming-and-hawing about personality traits, identity, life. Now? No. Now, I’m as blank as a neglected Ad-Libs booklet. Existentialism is a harsh mistress.
Time has been constrained so I have no art or endeavors to really report. It’s been about a week since any attempts were genuinely made. No adventures to report, no characters to introduce, no insights to proclaim. If ever there was a time for a filler post, now would be that time.
I enjoy the peace of mind afforded by being a work monkey. All I have to do is show up, be charming, and work hard. The extra money is nice, one less thing to fret over.
Going back to school sounds nice. Being a broke middle-aged-student aside, I enjoy the the prospect of the Art and English classes. I expect a challenge. Even if I’m not, being exposed to new ideas or ideals will be refreshing. Also the thought that I’m working towards something makes suffering work a lot more worthwhile. Being paid what I’m worth is a nice future to look forward to. Any extra money I make can help me buy some fancy art adventures.
I’m rambling. I doubt what I have is substantial. I guess they all can’t be. Anyway, here is some contrived filler to show that I’m still here and trying. Hopefully not too hard.