I’ve been in a terrible mood lately, which makes writing anything interesting a challenge. Like:
“We saw Wall Street 2 tonight. It was… I don’t know, it was fine. Whatever.”
Did you enjoy reading that? I didn’t enjoy writing it. It felt like pulling a tooth.
In an attempt to turn this bitch-train around, I got a massage last night. I joined a chain massage place a while ago, where they charge you every month for a session, but they charge you less than a normal one hour session would cost. In exhibit #847 that I’m not great at relaxing, I now have four sessions banked, which means that in the five months I’ve been a member, I’ve gotten one massage.
So last night was my second one, with Nick. Give Nick credit – I went in for a deep-tissue massage on my shoulders and he TOOK THEM APART. My neck and shoulders still hurt to the touch 24 hours later. It was excruciating. I’m going back next Monday and I can’t wait.
2 comments:
I know how you feel. Sometimes I sit down to blog and I'm like, "Who the hell wants to hear my yammering about nothing? 'I ate sweet potato fries. I watched Hoarders. I got a new showerhead. Hooray for my boring life.'"
I try to hit the balance of being sort of chatty and amusing, but not making every post a Piece Of Writing. Because I can't sustain that.
To me the thing about a blog is that it's cumulative -- it's a record of your thoughts and your life, and if you have one of those days where you're like "I saw Wall Street, whoop-de-doo, fuck you all," well, that's part of your life. Sometimes you feel like being talkative and sometimes you don't. The blog is you, and it's you in a suit and you in a fancy dress and you in underpants and a ponytail. But it's all you. You know? And I like you, so I like your blog. :)
Seriously, though, my new showerhead is awesome.
I'm still laughing at this, CJB.
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