Man, has writing become a difficult task to tackle over the last couple of weeks. I want to do it, I think of things to write about all the time from politics to feminism to my personal recipe for roasted beets, but once I face the screen on my laptop, the battle to the end of a paragraph seems nearly insurmountable.
I blame my recent foray into therapy for this. And a larger writing piece I am working on that demands a lot of deep, personal engagement. Suddenly, I don't want to write about anything. I want to fuck deep, personal engagement. I also want to fuck complex thinking and symbolic dreaming.
It is much easier to crochet a deformed purple rabbit, read twenty pages of Twitter updates, and drink beer. And eat leftover chinese food, watch "Britney: For the Record", and write about how I don't want to write about anything.
I'll be nicer later.
I am a participant in NaBloPoMo 2008, a challenge to write 30 posts in 30 days during the month of November. "National Blog Posting Month is the epicenter of daily blogging!"