This morning, after making sure that the blog post telling everyone to go throw money at a magazine with my story in it was actually scheduled, and that the Twitter plug in was ACTUALLY working, I had a dilemma.
With only 90 minutes before needing to leave for work, is that enough time to make coffee? Will I just end up sipping half a cup while distracted by the internet, and then have to dump the rest of the searing hot pot of coffee down the sink? WILL I WASTE MY PRECIOUS BEANS (note: said beans were ground for me a million years ago and are probably so stale that the purveyors of said beans, who actually have standards, would probably be horrified that I still have them and intend to drink fluids I’ve strained through them).
DO I HAVE TIME to drink enough coffee to make using MY PRECIOUS BEANS worthwhile, I thought, staring at the dirty, doddering, ancient Mr. Coffee perched on the peeling 60′s olive green countertop. DO I?
I immediately went to the bathroom, found the only mirror still extant in the apartment, stared deeply into my eyes and wild hair for a moment, and then tentatively slapped myself. I was still confused so I turned a light slap into a brutal THEWACK. And then, I knew. OBVIOUSLY I HAD TIME FOR COFFEE. Sheesh.
Similarly, I’ve been spending way too much time screwing around and thinking, “Boy, I really ought to blog more often, both my website and my LiveJournal are like these horrific ghost towns full of nothing but begging for cash for my stuff and begging for cash for other people’s stuff.” Because I used to blog a lot, back when LJ was pretty much my only social network, because Facebook sucked then, and Myspace also sucked and the others hadn’t been yanked kicking and screaming into the tubes.
The problem is that I keep telling myself that I should blog about something TRULY INTERESTING and be like those people who craft amazing essays on the nature of publishing or whatever and blog them. Except that then I’m like WELL IF I’M GONNA SPEND ALL DAY ON IT I SHOULD TRY TO GET PAID, and then I think about trying to find buyers for Essays In Which Keffy Has Opinions About Shit, and feel tired, and decide to say screw it! and go back to tweeting incessantly.
BUT THEN, at some point between turning on Mr. Coffee to make this glorious stale coffee (anything is okay with enough chocolate syrup, that’s what I always say), and now, I realized… WAIT.
What if I blogged like I tweet.
Neurotically, in great volume, about pretty much nothing.
Also, here is a picture of a sidewalk. I have a lot of them. They bring me joy. I cannot explain this. SIDEWALKS! YOU WALK ON THEM!
Originally published at Everything I do is SO fucking amazing that sparks are going to shoot out of your eyes.. You can comment here or there.