I woke up today and remembered that I had a blog.
I’m slightly amnesic after a Google search algorithm sideswiped me while I was surfing Craigslist. I also might be HTML intolerant.
Lately, the word “blog” sounds more like “blahg” when it rolls off my tongue, as if a rotten pistachio nut left a bad taste in my mouth.
Maybe it has something to do with watching five minutes of the new Fear Factor, or motion sickness from the dizzying swings of the S&P.
Or maybe because I fell off a pile of bills and hit my head at the bottom of my bank account.
I’m also pretty sure that that derelict Fear regularly squats on my shoulder, plunging the northern region of my torso into freezing temperatures.
All those ideas I scribbled onto scraps of paper went MIA, lost somewhere on my desk, or in my mind, after a Wizard of Oz squall sent me back to Kansas in an invisible hot air balloon, as I clicked my heels together three times in an attempt to kill yellow brick road ants that infested my shoes.
And those 3,080 emails clogging up my inbox might be a problem, or perhaps my neurotic perfectionist tendencies that encourages me to save. I hope my compulsion lands me a show on the Discovery Channel about email hoarding.
Reading blogs used to release dopamine into my brain and send coffee spurting from my nose. Now it just elicits a swift kick to the gut and a panicked grip to the windpipe.
Damn shoulder squatter!
What’s the problem? I love interacting with virtually every species of avatar.
Maybe earthling matters have clouded my perception. Writing a memoir squeezes the creative juices from my brain.
I’m also exhausted working three days a week, as a part-time desk jockey, earning dog food pay.
Because I’m Pavlov’s human, my dogs torture me every day. They’re always barking up the wrong tree. You know, the one that fell without a sound when I wasn’t around the other two days.
It’s time to wake up and spurt the coffee.
I won’t let fear – of what I don’t know – keep me away from the blogosphere.
Maybe, I’ll Google cyber shrinks and then dive this time, thus avoiding the concussive effects of an errant algorithm wave.
Does Fear ever squat on your shoulder?