Yesterday I noticed the number of my blog followers had increased by one. Hey, I said to this invisible new arrival, I was just about to stop posting and then you hopped on the bus full of expectations.
Here's how it has been in that quagmire known as my frontal lobe where I keep my rotational thoughts - you know the ones: I need to go to the dentist but I'm afraid he's going to throw me and my crazy teeth out. The deck has a rotting floorboard and someone's leg might go through? I still haven't plugged in the air purifier because I can't see the settings and somehow I think I'm incapable of putting on a light.
|Turn me on, you nitwit|
That Fit Bit I was overjoyed to receive is just lying there and the little feet are still.
|Talk to me.|
Why am I napping so much? The new mic I was overjoyed to receive is just lying there gathering dust. I started learning about podcasts in September.
My blog is just lying there. I haven't done a new post in days. What do I have to post about anyway? Maybe I'll just stop posting. I'll go look at my stats and see how many visitors I've had besides the Russian porn sites that visit me regularly. (By the way, there's nothing you can do about these trolls infesting your blog.)
Yesterday, my new blog follower slapped me hard with an open palm and said, "Snap out of it!" When I'm in this state, I always think of Cher in Moonstruck where, in her typical Cher way, she slaps Nicolas Cage to startle him off his self-indulgent, transitory emotional streak.
Thank you, new follower. The slap hurt a little but it did the trick.
|I think that will do it.|