So I've started about five posts in the past week and then right before hitting publish I realized what I had written would work wonderfully in my book -in-the-works, Baby F(Ph)at. So I cut and pasted, added a nice little padding to my #amwriting wordcount, and then sat here staring at a blank screen again. Shit. Now what do I write about?
See, I'm trying my damndest to institute an official state of Separation of Blog and Book ...kinda like that Separation of Church and State thingy, except that mine will actually mean something. That's right, I said it.
So I can mention the fact that I almost pulled a gun on my sister the other night because she slipped downstairs while I was writing and then scared the crap out of me when I heard noises. Long story short: I have a CCW and my sister promised to physically smack me when going back down after I think everyone is in la-la land and I'm busy trying to write my opus.
And I can say in passing that I'm waiting to hear back from a local fitness boot camp to see abbout signing up to see about kicking my own ass back into shape. And God? Maybe you can talk these people into meeting at a time other than two hours after I usually go to bed? Thanks, Big Guy. I appreciate it.
I can also share that in cleaning my daughter's room and sorting the shit she's outgrown, I've come to the realization that Buttercup has enough clothes to dress a small city of midgets. It's actually quite disgusting and along with her toys, I am now aware that my kid is the kid I hated when I was growing up. It's actually quite funny if you aren't me.
And right now, that's all I can say. The rest is going into my book.