The Shape of Days

Well holy crap, this week was just a total wash. I didn’t accomplish a damn thing this week, despite having the best intentions. Writing? Screw writing. I’ve got some notions floating around in my head — the Speaking Cat, Homo sapiens borealis, the Sargasso Sea — but they’re all disconnected. Nothing’s sticking together. So I just let them float.

I haven’t even done my laundry for the week yet. Unless I wash clothes tonight, tomorrow I’m gonna be wearing spandex bicycle shorts and a tuxedo shirt. Commando.

I unsubscribed from some feeds today. It’s nothing personal, really. It’s just when it gets to the point where I’m skipping past your crap with a roll of my eyes far more frequently than I’m reading it, it’s time to move on. I just don’t need that kind of negativity in my day, you know? If you want to write about how the Muslims need to be locked up in concentration camps or how the Jews are just like the Nazis, knock yourself out. Really. It’s a big Web, and you’ll probably find lots and lots — sigh — and lots of people who flock to hear what you have to say. I just don’t particularly want to be one of them.

Far too late last night, I caught that movie Mirrormask. You’ve probably never heard of it. To tell you the truth, I thought it was pretty entertaining. It made absolutely no sense, but it wasn’t supposed to. It’s a vision in a dream, as it were. But the production design was top notch, and the performances were captivating enough that I sat there for ninety minutes or however long it was and found myself entertained. Good enough for me.

Yeah, this whole week has been a write-off. Can I start over?

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