Momma Mia, Mea Culpa

Have you ever been involved with so many projects at once – they consumed every single moment of your life – including your dreams? And those very same projects took over so much that you didn’t have time to shower, or brush your teeth, or change your pajamas, or even enjoy the little things such as: bacon, and cheese, and chocolate, and vodka, because for the past eight weeks, you’ve been too busy, holed up, in a little corner of your house, while participating in a 30 Day Photo Challenge followed by simultaneous challenges known as NaBloPoMo + NaNoWriMo. And even though those challenges were totally super awesome, and probably even good for you, because they forced you to be creative, and they forced you to read and write every single day, for sixty days in a row, you also quickly learned if you keep participating in these challenges, while trying to write a novel, it’s probably not going to be finished until 2015 – if you’re lucky.  <—– longest sentence ever.

And that’s when you decide you’re going to focus all of your time, and all of your energy, solely on your novel, for the entire month of December.

But … before you take a much needed vacation from the blog world, you really want to leave your readers with something fabulous to hold onto, because seriously, that’s the least you can do. Especially since they were so incredibly supportive throughout those insane challenges.

Unfortunately, that’s also precisely when you will feel enormous amounts of pressure to produce, and deliver, a wonderful story, along with perfectly captioned photos, because you don’t want to write just any old blog post.

Oh, no.

You want to write something epic enough to sustain your readers for an entire month.

Except that you’re fresh out of ideas because you used them all up back in November.

So you’re left staring at a blank piece of paper, which is a lot like your brain.

But you’re a dedicated writer. And you’re a diehard blogger. You must be able to think of at least one good idea. Right?

And since you really don’t want to disappoint your readers, you forge ahead, even though you’re fairly certain this blog post is going to fall short of your own unrealistic expectations. Nevertheless, you dig deep into the recesses of your brain, only to come up with terrible ideas like: how you tripped over your own pajama pants while walking up the stairs. Or how the last time you shaved your legs it was 85 degrees and sunny. Or how staring at the Christmas lights for too long may cause dizziness.

But when none of those lousy ideas come to fruition you decided not to write about them.

And then you grab a bowl of ice cream, and a brownie, and wander around aimlessly. But after an hour, or two, you will come to realize if you keep that up for much longer, or if you keep obsessing over blog posts, your novel probably isn’t going to be finished until 2016. So you sit back down at your desk, turn on your computer, and try again.

And that’s when you consider blogging about the time you finally decided to bathe, and you were all kinds of excited to get clean, and maybe even shave your legs. Except once you get into the shower, you slip and fall, and on you way down, you might have grabbed onto the shower curtain, for dear sweet life, ripping it clean off the hooks. And then you might end up with some type of head injury. And you should probably call 911.  But then you remember how much you hate hospitals and the way they smell. And, since that story doesn’t have a very good ending, you decide not to write about it all. Besides, you probably have a concussion.

In order to heal your wounds, you grab another bowl of ice cream, and another brownie, and then wander around aimlessly, again. Because you still can’t come up with an idea for a blog post. And you momentarily think about giving up altogether. But then you remember you’ve never been a quitter and you’re not about to start now.

Filled with determination, you contemplate blogging about driving your son to work, at the mall, four times a week, and how that’s really putting a damper on your schedule. And how that’s probably going to push back the completion of your novel until 2017. But you can’t find a way to make that sound remotely funny, or the least bit entertaining, so you immediately decided not to write about that either.

But instead of grabbing another bowl of ice cream, and instead of eating another brownie, that’s when you think about describing how you wait for your son to emerge from the ‘secret employees only exit’ while sitting inside your car, and channeling your inner ‘Charlie Day’ and acting out this scene from the movie Horrible Bosses, by singing ‘That’s Not My Name’ on the top of your lungs, clapping your hands, and whipping the driver seat up and down, along with the beat of the music, and even though people are staring at you, that only makes you laugh even harder, which only makes you look even crazier, but you really don’t give a shit, because you’re probably never going to see those people again. <—– 2nd longest sentence ever.

And speaking of the mall, you really hate going to the mall, in general, but especially during the holiday season. Mostly because it takes at least 45 minutes to get out of the crowded parking lot. And also because half of the parking lot is blocked off for Valet Service. Which means you can’t possibly make a left turn, even though you really need to make a left turn, because that’s the fastest way to get back to your house, and you’re in a hurry, because your your novel probably won’t be finished until 2018  if you keep getting stuck in this crazy traffic, and you still need to come up with an idea for a blog post.

And then two cars cut you off. And then everyone starts honking at you. And then other people start yelling out of their windows, “Move your car!”  And normally, you would just tell them, “kindly, fuck off.” Except that it’s probably the very same people who recently watched you re-enact, this very scene,  just moments ago. So you quickly make the right turn, only to be filled with rage and resentment, for the next three traffic lights, all of which will be red. And when you finally get home, you’re sofa king exhausted, you can’t even imagine writing a blog post. Besides, who wants to hear about you dancing in the mall parking lot? And who the hell wants to hear about traffic? So you decide not to write about those incidents, either.

And then you think about all of the other bloggers who you love so much, and how they’ve been steadily entertaining you, for the past seven years, and you really owe them at least one good story, fer fuck sake. So you grab another bowl of ice cream and another brownie. And then you brew a fresh pot of coffee, because you’re going to pound away on that keyboard until you come up with an idea for a blog post – even if it kills you. And even if that means the completion of your novel will be postponed until 2019.

And that’s when you think about telling everyone, how lately you’ve been spending so much time inside your car, apparently that’s all you can talk about. Like how after you’ve driven your car for longer than five minutes, the driver seat has a tendency to get hot. And not just warm, like cuddling with kittens, but HOT, as in third degree burns on the back of your thighs. And the longer you drive the car, the hotter the seat gets.  And just when you think the seat can’t possibly get any hotter, it does. And hot, as in, the car might spontaneously explode.  And then you imagine that scene from the movie ‘Fight Club’ when Ed Norton explains his job as an insurance actuary, and how the passengers inside of a faulty car ended up dying a fiery death, and how you can see the burnt flesh stayed stuck on the steering wheel. But just when you’re ready to veer off the road, in a complete state of panic, your gigantic pocketbook goes flying from the middle console, exposing the once hidden “heated seats activated light” – only you had NO IDEA your 1996 Subaru even had heated seats, mostly because you didn’t know any cars from that decade had heated seats, and also because you really don’t know anything about cars at all. But then you decided not to write about that either, because then everyone will know, you are really dumb.

So you grab another bowl of ice cream, mostly because you’re depressed, and also because you need to cool off your thighs. And then you grab another brownie, and wander around aimlessly, again. Because if you can’t come up with an idea for a blog post, and soon, that novel of yours probably won’t be finished until some time in 2020.

In a last ditch effort, you think about throwing out useless and meaningless poll questions like:

1. Coke or Pepsi?
2. Cannon or Nikon?
3. Bounce or Snuggle?
4. Hellman’s or Miracle Whip?
5. Heinz or Hunts?

But you know that’s incredibly lame and a complete waste of everyone’s time.

So, you decide not to write about that either.

And then you come to the conclusion, if you keep writing this blog post, you’re definitely not going to finish that novel before 2021. And that’s just ridiculous.

And you should probably walk away from the computer already. And you certainly need to brush your teeth, because you’re growing sweaters on your bicuspids. And you absolutely need to change out of your filthy pajamas, because you’re attracting flies. And you should probably eat some bacon, and cheese, and chocolate, and you should probably drink a crapton of Vodka, because you’ve had way too much ice cream, and you’ve had way too many brownies, and you still haven’t come up with anything decent to blog about.

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