Blerty Blerty Fuck Fuck Fuck

*Sigh* I am so terribly discombobulated. I have had not enough solitude, and no centering prayer. It makes me go blerty blerty blerty and it brings out the inner rebellious child that says fuck fuck fucking fuck.

So if you were looking for a deep and meaningful post from me, one pondering and rambling and meandering about deep stuff, then tonight is not the night, darling. Discombobula is not wearing the sexy nightie tonight. It's wearing the pyjamas with the jam stain down the front and the big bog-catcher undies-she-wears-when-she-has-
her-period undies. Sorry about that. Try me tomorrow. Or Saturday morning. I like a bit of blogging on Saturday morning :)

It's not for lack of trying to post something interesting and deep, believe me. This is the third post I've started. The other two are stored as drafts, 10 paragraphers about interesting subjects, but both of them petered out like an old man whose Viagra has just worn off. How ironic that in the week after my blog fast I seem to have developed blog constipation (well, by my 64-posts-in-one-month standards).

*Sigh*. And again. *Sigh*

But hey, at least it's sumer. We took the dogs to the beach before. Lester barked at the parasailer. I gazed at the parasailer and thought, "Now, that would be a damn fine artist date." It looks real fun. And it was warm and sunny and hot and I ached and thought, "I need to write or I will explode somewhere from my kidneys."

But yea, it did not happen except for this complete and utter waste of space. Sometimes you're on blogger fire. Other times it's blog desert. I think I'm gonna go eat that piece of pavlova in the fridge (desert - dessert - this is how my mind works).