I don’t have anything to write about, other than the rant I just typed out that I may or may not post at a later date. I can’t write about politics without getting angry and spewing four letter words every third word. Oh, there are certainly some topics I’d like to write about (Washington State’s senate passage of the gay marriage bill, for one) that are, unfortunately, just a bit too controversial for me to approach. Which is in and of itself rather strange, because since when did I give a shit about my online image? When did I care at all what other people thought of me?
I don’t. It took me a long time to get to that point, but I don’t. I do, however, have to bow to the other forces at work here and acknowledge that by not caring and therefore not monitoring myself, I could end up like that idiot who mouthed off about the romance genre and find myself shut out by the publishing world.
Also, nothing interesting has happened lately, unless you count the Colbert Super PAC raising over one million dollars interesting. (I don’t, but it is funny.)
So what’s a girl to do? Sit back and hope it’s just the mid-winter ennui that’s got me feeling all blah? Brainstorm a new direction for the Rubber Duck Brigade? Abandon it all together? (Don’t worry, that’ll never happen. I like the blog. I do. It just annoys me sometimes.)
Thoughts? Feelings? Opinions? Would you abandon me if I turned solely to the topic of writing, and writing about romance, and books, and the music I use to inspire the mush-brain inducing prose I choose to write?
Yes, I’m talking to you, you who have read this blog and never commented. Now’s your chance. Speak up!
If you’ll excuse me, there’s a bottle of beer with my name on it in the fridge. I must confiscate this beer before the BF returns home and claims it for himself. Otherwise I’ll be forced to open a bottle of wine and drink it all myself. Come to think of it, that might not be a bad idea.