Do you people wish I would blog less about my inability to overcome writer's block and more about my ability to bake cute cookies for neighborhood block parties? I don't mean to refer to you as "you people." That sounds condescending. It sounded. And sounds. And there are sounds outside of my window which I think can be attributed to either an owl or a leprechaun in distress. If it's the latter, I hope it doesn't need my help. I have limited time to myself in the blessed morning that I'd rather not get involved in an adventure with a fairy creature clad in green. Save that for my evenings. I am so okay with the fantastical in the evenings.
Last night I had a dream that Julia Roberts Horse Mouth and her husband Danny Whatshisnamewhocares were running a sex ring operation. A sex ring operation? Is that what they are called? It sounds like a medical procedure you'd have to elevate your sex life to new heights. But anyway, Julia and Danny and their unfortunate girls were holed up in a very swanky hotel suite in San Francisco. I was an undercover agent and was assigned the task of exposing America's sweetheart as the morally corrupt character that she is. Was. Is, was, it is what it was and it was all just a dream, sadly. I only say "sadly" because I think we, as a greedy and morally corrupt society, need a celebrity scandal of this level. No more iconic actors dying, please. Just sex ring operations and maybe the occasional fairy creature affairs.
What else, what else. Oh, I am almost finished with David Mitchell's The Bone Clocks. I've been reading it like a maniac simply because I am a maniac and reading allows me to temporarily hush the creepy voices of anxiety that creep into my creepy head and also it's a pretty good book. And... That's about it. I don't do much else. Maybe it's January? Maybe once spring and summer grace us with their presence (and presents because my birthday is in June), I will suddenly emerge from my slumber and take on the world! Or at least do more things than hole up in my house and read books that are pretty good. Maybe I'll try yoga for the millionth time! Maybe I'll watercolor on the porch! Maybe I'll build a new porch just because porches are nice places to paint and having more than one nice place to paint would be, well, nice! Maybe I'll set up a lemonade stand that does not sell lemonades, but sells the idea of lemonade! Like, a philosophical lemonade stand. One thing I will not do, however, is open up a sex ring operation with Danny Moder and his wife.
You know what, I'm beginning to think that is definitely not an owl outside of my window. If it isn't an owl, it has to be a leprechaun. I'm guessing the leprechaun needs me to help him shut down the Moder sex ring? You got it, dude. I'll meet you at the swanky San Fran suite at dusk. Roger, over and out.