We Believe In Nothing!

This is the part where I'm supposed to have started an actual content blog, where I am inspired by or self-generate topics of discussion of interest to me and, by hopeful accident, to you, the reader, as well.

Sadly, I have yet to work through the questioning, feeling out phase where I talk endlessly about myself, my hopes, my fears, my expectations for my new blog-venture and hope you all don't mind while I swim laps in my own navel.

See, the process used to be that I would wake up, take kids to school, come home, ignore my youngest child and, in the process of dedicated parental neglect, read other peoples' blogs and countless news aggregators looking for that one little spark to get me going, words-wise.

Then I would spend a lot of time crafting and mulling and shaping until, ultimately, I would give all that up, find two diametrically opposed topics, invent a spurious and questionable rationale to shoehorn them both into the same blogpost and shazam, blog day done and it's right back to four search engines scouring the web for Lindsay Lohan nipple slips.

I took my child neglect very serious in those days.

Now, as I reboot the writerly part of my brain that I had given over to Excel spreadsheet maintenance and most troubling decisions in cubicle decoration (Ziggy or Garfield? Ziggy or Garfield?), I find myself unplugged in a fashion that makes this something of an outright effort.

And that is saying something considering that we're in a content-repeat of the days of my first blog, what with the white-hot popular culture meltdown fueled by the spinning antipodes of presidential politics and Olympic sport.

But again, those were days of swift boats and Alan Keyes and me caring enough to read things. I'm afraid my lack of free time has pushed right over the line where cynical stops being adorable and becomes nihilism.

But, like Barack Obama and that girl who does gymnastics whose name I forget, I have hope. Like a black dude who runs for president or an 85-pound female who has arrested her own development through a years-long, rigorous regimen of malnutrition and brutal self-inflicted systematic physical punishment by assenting to being dropped from great heights on to unforgiving obstacles, I believe in myself. No matter how ridiculously useless my striving is or utterly, laughably hopeless my goals, I believe I can get to where I am going.

I will be blog-great again. Or, you know, if not great, at least minimally up to my standard. Which, OK, wasn't that high. But I did try! Most days.

What I won't be is like Garfield, who just lays there and utters witticisms, refusing to move, wallowing in his own wretched dependency and morbid obesity, even refusing to protect himself when Jon comes home with the groceries and inevitably trips over his sad, enormous, self-loathing pet. That cat hates exercise! And Mondays!

And I can't stop laughing.

So I guess today's lesson is... you know what, I think I lost it.