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What I really think about New Year’s Eve.

11:13 PM Farmville;

11:37 PM Making an ass of myself during dice;

11:46 PM Trying not cry;

12:00 AM Kissing my girlfriend, a lot;

12:04 AM Smoking my first cigarette of the new year;

12:06 AM Taking a piss against the shed: first of the new year;

12:16 AM Shooing people;

12:20 AM Meaningfully hugging my best friend of 16 years with wet eyes;

12:35 AM Some guy from down the street is crashing our party that has almost ended. Bryce? Thought it was Josh from Shoes;

12:55 AM Water, blogging this, ready for bowl and bed;

9:46 AM Editing my horrendous draft from last night.

I really did have a good time, though.

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What I really think about writer’s block.

Fuuuuuck.

So blocked. So blocked I can’t even write a blog. And this blog is supposed to be block therapy. A little treatment to get me out of my current state of… nothingness. So blocked that I can’t think of anything I want to write a blog about except how blocked I am.

Great.

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What I really think about the wind.

Hey, wind, you’re an asshole. Quit making it so fucking cold, and quit pushing my car every which way while I’m trying to get from point A to point B safely.

And please, if you wouldn’t litter the road and sidewalk with all of those branches, and it would also be polite if you’d refrain from knocking the porch swing off the porch and into the fence–I think it irritates the neighbors, and that thing is heavy, you bastard.

I won’t even get into the mess you made when I was wearing that little dress the other day, let’s just call that one an accident.

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What I really think about 2:11 A.M.

It’s a little dull, and too quiet.

And I’ve become like one of those anti-drug commercials where the girl is flattened into the couch and her dog is looking at her, disappointed and lonely.

That’s livin’! : D

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What I really think about blogging.

Ahhh, blogging.

I am of the belief that there are few worthwhile reasons to blog:

1. Your job (I know I will do relatively anything for a few bucks–relatively);

2. To keep in touch with a mass group of people, ie: “here are some pictures of my little family for my distant relatives” or “check out these posting about my trip overseas!”;

3. You actually have something important and meaningful to say, and you know how to say it well, but you’re locked in a small confined space with only a computer;

4. You’re fucking bored and blocked (moi!) and need some sort of outlet, probably just to sit around and bitch and criticize shit (you know you love it!).

And so it ends up that here I am, posting the first entry of my little bitter blog, hoping that perhaps it will push me into some sort of thoughtfulness or inspiration, that maybe I will develop the good habit of sitting down and writing every day, even when I have nothing good to say (and what better place to have nothing good to say than a blog?). Or, maybe, that some publishing executive or editor will stumble upon this, find me unavoidably clever and ask me to write for them, and then I will become rich and well-liked.

Isn’t that always the end goal, after all?

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