Who’d ever think writing bullshit required so much energy?
Who’d think stringing together an agonizing series of words, sentences and paragraphs could depend so much on me having fuel in the tank?
Well writing is a tremendous physical test.
Is so in the respect that it relies entirely upon your mental stores to reach fruition, and ultimately, your mental stores are only as stocked as your physical body is able to pump out its precious gas. Its life force.
Right now my life force is seriously depleted.
It’s been a long, lost weekend and everyone around me is dropping like flies from the viral swarm which has swooped into my life like a cloud of angry, hungry locusts. Fortunately I’ve managed to escape the bug, the whatever it is, the one that is sickening everyone and turning my workplace into a hospital room. A couple of weeks ago I came down with something for a couple of days. Woke up with a sore throat, felt chilled and tired, but I bounced right back in a few days, voila. Just like new.
Rather than touting my superhero level immune system, I merely think it’s a function of me having suffered from this current contagion before and the antibodies that are roaming my lymph system, nuking with precision and single-minded evolutionary fury any pathogen it is DNA-coded to recognize and exterminate.
Human physiology is fascinating.
Microbes, bacteria, viruses…I remember learning about viruses in college biology and marveling as their microscopic invisibility was shattered by the technology of electron microscopy. Viruses look man-made. The angles, the symmetry, the uniform rows of detail. Unlike bacteria which look like globs of amorphous…junk.
I took this 3D rendering of a virus from HowStuffWorks.
Tonight I was going to post an installment of my “Silly Things I’ve Done While Drunk” series. Even though I knew exactly which 80s anecdote I was going to use, when the curtain call came, I wasn’t feeling it. I sat on the idea too long. Lazy and working to ready myself for work tomorrow, pack lunch, iron clothes…the entire time I was silently formulating the story, then suddenly, it just vanished. The will to relay and narrate it. Another time, another day.
The soul of creativity is capricious that way.
One minute you feel it; the next, fuck it.
A lot of bloggers have a wise policy. If they have nothing to say, they just don’t post. I certainly think that is a very respectable policy.
I’m the opposite. Perhaps because I’m lacking the “respectability” quality. Whatever.
I post even when I have nothing organized of value to say. I think my rambling material represents some of my most wicked glimmers of ingenuity. Or maybe it’s just self-delusion.
The big issue being, as I see it, how do I categorize this post?
Pointless ruminations is well ahead of the pack for obvious reasons.
It’s raining outside.
I’ve heard second-hand (I haven’t read the paper or watched the news lately), Los Angeles will play host to 3 storms over the next week.
Which means maybe 2 whoppin’ inches of rain, tops, over the next week. Which means people will drive like shit, crash, fall, spin out, be involved in ridiculously minor fender benders further leading to incredibly disproportionate traffic jams. And the local media will devote top billing for 5 days to “Storm Watch” in a shameless and pathetic display of news reporting. We will see (round the clock) the obligatory news footage of a reporter, “out in the field,” wrapped up in a raincoat that resembles a big Glad trash bag while dots of thin sprinkle fly by the camera lense. Storm Watch.
L.A., she’s lame.
The title of my post was going to be something like “Popcorn Upchuck.”