I have been having a severe case of The Writer’s Blockages.
It’s where my brain is filled with a million and four great post ideas until I sit down at the computer. Then I can only get the post half up.
It’s like I have erectile dysfunction.
Oh, my husband is just going to LOVE that metaphor.
Writing the above just reminded me of a former boyfriend. A former boyfriend who said I had shit brown eyes. Why the hell did I ever date that guy?
I once told this bad boyfriend I’d give him 4 guesses on something. And he kind of flipped out. “Why can’t you just give me three guesses like a normal person?”
Um, dude? Who cares?
That’s the thing between me and regular ol’ society. I don’t understand the big deal if something is different. If it’s wrong? I am 12 kinds of furious. But if it’s different? Who cares?
Lately, in the midst of all this difference, I haven’t been able to pick a topic. I want to tell you about how cute it is when Wild Thing tries to brush his own teeth. I want to tell you how damn frustrated it makes me when he starts stomping his feet over the toothrbrush I am ALREADY HANDING TO HIM. Dude? I’m giving it to you. Now stop throwing a tantrum so that I actually can.
Is it odd that I want to call my son dude?
Did you go through that phase in 6th grade where you were all like “A dude is a hair on an elephant’s butt?”
My point in all this word vomit is this: I want to tell you about so many things. Yet I’m frustrated. I’m having trouble posting. Because nothing seems to come out right.
Is that another ED joke? You decide.