Blank Screen

The hardest thing about writing is the beginning, not knowing where or how to start. If I’m being honest, half the time, I don’t even know what to say. I guess the hardest part about writing is actually doing it. I don’t think I was meant to write, but the problem is, I really want to. I have more notebooks than any one person needs, full of crisp, blank pages. I obsessively sit in front of my laptop, drawn to the little Word 2016 icon, but when I open it up, it’s just an electronic version of my dust-collecting notebooks. I stare at the blank screen, and it stares right back. Uninspiring, but so full of judgement.

This has been a struggle for the past several years. I feel empty without writing, but I feel too empty to write. If things were going terribly, I suppose the words would flow as freely as my tears would. If things were wonderful, I’d likely be dripping inspiration. But life is just good; a tad dull and a lot regular. Not that I’m complaining, but who wants to read about regular?

A few years back, the words flowed a bit more freely. I had just discovered blogging, and it was love at first write. Writing, being read, and reading…being part of a community. It felt like family. I can’t remember when or why, but suddenly, it wasn’t the same. Weeks turned to months, and then to a year with nary a thing to say. I had made peace with the void. Then nostalgia kicked in. That bitch.

They say practice makes perfect. I’m not too sure, but I’ll keep on practicing. Maybe it’s a form of therapy. Or lunacy…writing with nothing to say. Maybe I just like the tapping sound of the keyboard. It’s new and shiny, and boy, does it sound lovely. Tap, tap, tap, nothing to say, tap, tap, tap. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see if this turns into more than just rambling. In any case, there isn’t a blank screen staring at me now, so I think I’m onto something.


I Think, Therefore I Write Nonsense

I am so bored right now, that I’m just gonna write without putting much thought into what gets written. BAM. I remember when I first learned how to type, I thought I would never get the hang of the whole “keeping your fingers on home row.” What the furkey is home row anyway? Well, now I’m a total pro at home row. I can type with my eyes closed, and still feel fairly confident that I’m not making many typos. Mad skillz. I spelled skills incorrectly but that was intentional, so I’m actually not an idiot. BONKERS. I am a loser though. Because I’m totally talking to myself. Or rather, I’m typing to myself. I don’t know. Does that still make me a loser? Probably.

Time moves SO slowly when you’re not having fun. I am NOT having fun. This day should have ended like 8 hours ago. Right now, there are only 32 minutes left, but it still feels like torture. Frickity fruck frack fuck. Hey, 31 minutes remaining. When will this day end? Honestly, I don’t know why I’m even looking forward to another weekend that’s bound to be disappointingly short. All because some bozo decided that office hours should be 8:30am – 5pm, Monday through Friday. That bozo decided we should work our butts off for 5 days a week, and then be rewarded with 2 days off. TWO…SHORT…DAYS. And it’s not even really 2 days because on Saturday you’re all like, “Alright, this is nice. I’m just gonna relax all day.” But then Saturday turns into Sunday, and you can’t help but think, “Fuck, tomorrow’s fucking Monday AGAIN?! All work and no play, that is NO way to live. I mean, what the furkey is the point of life anyway?! Why were we put on this earth? Why God, why?!” Or something like that.

Now there are 28 minutes remaining and you clearly don’t give a frick. I give a frick. I don’t know why I’m saying frick when what I really mean to say is fuck. So…fuck. I’m bored and I’m still typing to myself. This is a really long non-existent conversation. I probably shouldn’t post this on my blog, as most people will think I’ve lost my mind. Or maybe they won’t give a flying frickity fruck frack fuck. I’m going to copyright that phrase.

Do you think anyone has ever died of boredom? Someone probably has, but we wouldn’t know. The obituary would probably say something about suicide. I guess boredom can lead to thoughts of suicide. Being bored is actually quite depressing. This blows. Seriously, can someone please explain the meaning of life? I think I’ve officially taken this too far. This is frickity fruck frack fucking ridiculous. 26 minutes. I quit…life. Ha. Okay, bye.


Side note: Lillian cannot be held responsible for the things that her brain said. She and her brain were not working as a unit at the time of this post. My apologies and thank you for understanding…that I am insane.

Up The Wall Like Spider-Man, If Spider-Man Drove A Car

Ever since I started blogging (a whopping 3 ½ weeks ago), I’ve found myself wishing I had a more interesting life so I’d have more writing material. I find myself thinking, “Damn, why doesn’t anything ever happen to me?” Well, I changed my mind. I’m okay with my dull life. I don’t want drama. I don’t want a shady past, skeletons in my closet, relation to a mafia family, a psychotic ex boyfriend trying to kill me, none of that. K? Thanks life.

This afternoon, I did something stupid. Nothing as interesting as anything I mentioned above, but interesting enough considering my life is quite dull. I rammed into my apartment building in my beautiful (poor little) car. I pulled into the parking spot and wanted to check that I was in between the lines. [Apparently I have this thing with trying to park as perfectly as possible, and I almost never get it right the first time.] I opened the door, thinking I had already put the car into Park…when all of a sudden, the car starts moving forward. From that point on, it was like a dream. I could see the brick wall coming towards me but I felt like I had no way of stopping it! Everything went in slow motion, and it was scary as f**k. For some reason, I couldn’t seem to find the brake pedal. I’m pretty sure my foot was RIGHT next to it, but nope, I couldn’t find it. I may or may not have hit the gas. I don’t remember doing that, but the curb and the grass is a mini up-slope and I hit the building kind of hard, so my boyfriend is convinced I accelerated. If I did, I didn’t mean to. I wanted nothing more than to BRAKE. So my bumper makes contact with the building….BAM! My chin makes contact with the steering wheel…OUCH!

It looks like my chin gave birth to a chin.

Here’s the part that I always forget about: when a car rams into something, the bumper reacts (bounces) and the car ends up moving either forward or backwards. Well, my car started moving backwards and I freaked out some more, because I forgot that was normal. I thought my car was possessed, or that the brakes were shot. All I know is I was hitting the brake [I finally found it] and it didn’t stop right away…until it did. PRAISE somebody, there wasn’t a car directly behind me because then I’d have TWO bumpers to take care of. *Breathes a sigh of relief* Needless to say, I was quite shaken up. I finally managed to park again, and this time I very slowly braked, moved the shift to the letter P, and put the E-brake on. At this point, who the f**k cares if I was perfectly centered within the two lines!

I took a few seconds to just breathe. I think I was mumbling, “Please let this be a stupid dream, please tell me I’m not THAT stupid…please wake up, wake up!” Yeah, nice try. I finally got out to inspect the damage. From a distance, you probably couldn’t tell anything happened. [If I still had my old Toyota, it would have looked like death. So kudos to Mercedes-Benz.] The bumper was slightly “off” but it wasn’t dented in the front. Scratched, yes…I mean geeze, my car was trying to climb the wall…but it could have been much worse. Once you pop the hood, you can see I cracked this aluminum something behind the bumper…yeah, that thing.

I’m just so mad at myself. I’ve only had this car since February and I can’t believe I damaged it MYSELF. When you damage things yourself, YOU have to pay for them. So when possible, make sure someone else does the damage so someone else can pay. Got that? I’ve never been in a car accident [well, someone rear ended me once while I was stopped at a light, but that’s not my fault] and then I go and do this…it’s so lame!  That’s the last time I try to scale the wall like Spider-Man. Psshhh…I learned my lesson.


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