Not much to say tonight, folks. No ideas have landed in my pretty little head, and there’s almost nothing duller than reading about someone’s struggles with writer’s block. If you don’t have anything to say, don’t say it. Discretion is the better part of writing.
Though now that I mention it, I am reminded of David Sedaris’s most recent collection of essays, Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls. I listened to the audio version, and as anyone who’s ever heard him on NPR knows, he can be laugh-out-loud funny. In one essay he describes the excruciating experience of being forced to eavesdrop upon dull conversations. While I hope to never generate that level of tedium for other people, I hope Sedaris continues to suffer a thousand tiny insults. It’s what makes him so funny.
At any rate, I did not want anyone to interpret my recent silence here as evidence of my death. I’m still alive, just uninspired.
I’ll try writing again in a couple of weeks. By then, I may have heard back regarding some of the job applications I’ve submitted. Failing that, I may be able to write about the obnoxiously good week I spent at the beach. My parents and I leave this Saturday, and my plans include — and honestly, this is just about comprehensive — swimming, reading, getting a sunburn, complaining about my sunburn, and restoring my sunburned spirits with ice cream. And possibly fudge.