My mind is a blank

Well, not a complete blank, but I can’t quite get anything creative to gel in my mind. Bleagh. Maybe I’ll just start writing random things to get it all broken loose. Well, not here, but over in UltraEdit or something. Then again, this is pretty random and all it seems to be doing is make me think about the fact I can’t think about anything.

Bleagh.

Whhhiiiirrrrrrrrrr

I know I should be writing. I want to write, I think I have things to write about, but nothing’s coming out of my fingers. Well, except for those words. And those. And those two right there. You get the picture.

I think the big thing that’s stoppering up my fingers right now is insight. I guess you could say I’ve had one of those breakthrough days today. You know, where you see a little deeper into yourself and figure out some little thing that makes you tick? It’s been one of those kinds of days. Well, maybe just the afternoon.
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Women’s magazines are scary

So I’m in my local Mom & Pop convenience store chain waiting to buy a grape soda and a bag of Haribo Fruit Blasts (“Another quality MAOAM chew from Haribo”) when I start perusing the magazine rack next to me. One of the women’s magazines (there’s a blonde on the cover, if that helps) has its headlines a little too scattered for my addled mind. Apparently there is an article about improving your sex life as well as one about improving your hairstyle. The only problem is, when you zip across the cover as I am wont to do, you get a headline reading “Improve your sex life! No scissors needed!”

Hold me, I’m scared.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

That’s the sound my brain’s making right now. Seems kinda hard to make out any useful thoughts. Oh well – all the more reason to spend more time at Catch today.

Oh, and I’m on A&W today. Mmmm… caffeine-free root beery goodness.

I’m old.

So I’m walking to work today and I realize I’m following this girl wearing one of those fashions I have yet to understand – jeans with bleached out stripes. Granted, I wore my fair share of acid-wash back in the day. Never much got into the torn jeans thing, other than when I was really small, but then it was because I was tired of Mama Moondoggie putting rainbow patches on the rips.
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