I’m boring.

There’s like 40 blogs on my blogroll, and most days I don’t have time to check them all. Today I did, which can only mean one thing: I didn’t do anything else today. Okay, I shoveled the driveway and the sidewalk out front. All by myself, despite the talk of shiftwork in the last entry, because Ignatz had friends over and DrBob’s wrist is messed up and I didn’t want him to hurt himself even more. And the Sniglet’s five, which is an age that wants to be helpful, but very often isn’t.

Here’s the thing. When I do stuff, I have stuff to write about but no time. When I don’t do stuff, I have time to write but no stuff. Unless you wanna hear about my fabulous bathroom reorganization yesterday. No, actually, sharing that memory would diminish its fabulousness. I’ll just hold it close to my heart. Good times, good times…

Welcome to Suburbia. Home of the Slow, Creeping Soul-Death.

Song du jour of the day? Breathing, by Kate Bush. She sang it with such anguish, and it seemed so possible, so near-future, in the 80s. Remember how we all thought we were just a breath away from nuclear annihilation, and that thought informed everything we did? Watched “The Day After“, read “On the Beach“, and thought of them as documentaries…Who cares, man, it’s all gonna go to hell any minute anyway. What a fucked-up way to grow up.

I loved that song. Still do, actually, even if it doesn’t ring quite as true these days.

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