Hey, Barbecutie

I am terrible at this.

Posted on: February 10, 2011

Okay, I’m not going to eat the butter, but if this day ends without me eating some kind of East Asian cuisine with my appalling chopsticks skillz then I have failed as a human person with a gastronomic system.

I feel fairly guilty that I write here so rarely. Not that I’m depriving the world of my unique insight – there’s plenty of navel-gazing white girls who assume they’ll be something some day but probably won’t get round to it (though I expect my excessive sentence helps me stand out a little) – but that it reminds me that I don’t really have that much to say. I suppose it’s good that I’m disinclined to bore my two readers (hey guys!) but I really should put more of an effort it.

That’s my problem with writering at the moment. I start a lot of stories, or have plenty of ideas (wispy, feeble ideas, but ideas nonetheless) but actually writing them down is a lot of effort. I had a conversation with someone who told me how they liked the idea of writing, and they liked having written, but actually sitting down and writing was absolute anathema. But I love to write. When I write, it’s all that’s in my head, it’s all I focus on. I just don’t seem to get that far. It’s not writer’s block, it’s more like apathy and confusion. Other things come up. Other things are easier. My biggest problem seems to be that I haven’t yet finished reading the internet. My biggest worry is that if I don’t write regularly, I’ll end up clunky and out-of-shape (metaphorically. Literally also but the writing or lack thereof has little influence on that). People always go on about how WRITING IS A MUSCLE and while they’re not wrong, they’re also prats and I don’t want to enter into all that malarkey. I just want to finish this story about a man that’s stuck up a tree. (SPOILER ALERT: THE TREE IS A METAPHOR.)

Tonight I am going out and I think it might rain on me but ye Gods I am getting dumplings.

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