The Truth Ain't Pretty

I was all set to berate my sister-in-law to for not updating her website. It’s been over a week! I mean, gosh, the nerve of her. Then I remembered my own sad and lonely blog, languishing away in a forgotten corner of the, uh, wherever the internet is. I can’t quite wrap my brain around that one.

Gentle reader, I assure you: I would write, but it takes so much time to get ready. To explain, I must take you into the mind of an amateur writer and near-professional procrastinator, and it’s not pretty. I am about to expose you to the shocking, seedy underbelly of the writing process. It might be uglier than sausage-making. The following is not for the faint of heart.

You see, before I write, I must:
Use the bathroom. Wash my hands. Stretch. Feed the cats. Drink a glass of water. Have a snack. Use the bathroom again. Wash all the dishes in the sink, as well as a few suspect ones from the cabinet. Straighten my desk. Sharpen my pencil. Check the typewriter ribbon. Charge the laptop. Straighten the office. Sit back down at the desk.

I’m ready to buckle down and get to it now. Here’s what typically happens next:

I begin on the typewriter, but I realize the humidity is making the keys stick, so I switch to pencil and paper. I quickly decide pen would be better. I start to hunt for the nice inky writing pen. I look under the bed, notice the dustbunnies, and vacuum under the bed. I vacuum the rest of the apartment, then figure that I might as well mop the bathroom while I’m at it. I finally find the pen in the silverware drawer, along with a knife I borrowed from the neighbors. I knock on their door and have a nice little visit before returning home. I’ve lost the pen again. I find it on the desk, but can’t find the paper. I decide to use the computer, since I can type faster than I can write (well, faster than I can write legibly). I turn on the computer, run the virus scan program, and check my e-mail. I go to the bathroom. I open a text document.

I engage in a vigorous staring contest with the computer.

I lose. I get up and stretch.

I feel truly ready to write now. I just need a little inspiration; perhaps I’ll just consult a few other websites. I’ll start out with hip, intelligent sites like Slate magazine, perhaps, then switch to a select few highly literary blogs. I’ll come up for air 3 hours later, cross-eyed and sluggish, somehow having ended up on the site of Germany’s answer to UsWeekly. I am useless. I can’t look at a computer screen anymore, much less write something witty. Oh dear. Now, friends, we arrive at the real reason that I do not write. What if it doesn’t come out very witty? What if my mother is the only who reads it? I might not boggle your mind! I aim to boggle your mind at every turn. I’ve hit the nail on the head here. That’s it. That's why I never get around to writing.

Well, that and Facebook.