To which I say, “What joke?” I first realized that I must be God when I was praying. Suddenly it became obvious that I was just talking to myself.
Still, even I get stuck from time to time. Here are some signs that my creative well might have run temporarily dry:
I have contemplated an entry devoted entirely to my dishwasher.
I am watching television shows that I would normally avoid out of hopes of finding something to critique.
Reposting old posts no longer strikes me as lazy. Heck, nobody even read this blog for the first month anyway. It would be all new to you.
Much of my time is spent blaming the previous administration for my own obvious shortcomings rather than posting new entries.
I have run out of ways to try to convince people to refer to me as the most desirable man on the blogosphere.
Searching the internet for what ever happened to Gil Gerard does not feel like a waste of time.
People are making comparisons to Ernest Hemingway’s dry period. Well, okay, that’s only happening in my own mind. Those comparisons might also be based merely on the amount of liquor that I consume rather than anything else.
I have thought about outsourcing this blog to India or South Korea.
All of my e-mails have been answered in a timely manner.
I contemplated an entry debating whether Justin Timberlake has the requisite skills to bring sexy back.
Finding a way to be arrested seems like a good way to get a solid, yet humorous, entry.
I am seeking out actual human contact.
I am blogging about my inability to blog.
I am actually doing work related to my job.
Not entertained? Eh – Like teaching, I have found it’s easier just to show videos when feeling tapped out.
Feel free to debate the fraught Nubia. Personally, I am disturbed that the children’s play time is defined by both race and gender: