Sanity Lost Or Mega Porky?

It's been a while, hasn't it?

Yeah, well ... I'm sorry to have kept you all waiting.  I know how much you all hang on my every word and dream of reading another smidgeon of the literary torture that I put you through.

The reason I was late?  

Simple!  

I couldn't be bothered!

I'm not talking about the run of the mill couldn't be bothered that we all go through once in a while.  No, this time I mean a "Why am I here? What's it all  about?" kind of couldn't be bothered.

For a while there I thought a shrink (I can't spell psychiatrist) would have to make a house call.

Actually it wasn't that bad, but I did have a minor crisis which would have caused me to acquire a few more grey hairs ... had I still had some, but it was all pretty silly really.  

I was sitting here ... right here, just like now ... and I thought 'Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrggghhhh!'

You see, I'd been planning a really witty post ... one of those filled with a host of double meanings and literary sharp sticks that poke fun at people ... when suddenly I realised that I'd lost my notes!  Yes!  For this post I had notes ... and I'd lost them.   

I went through the 'Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrggghhhh!' phase several times as I tried to recall what I'd wanted to write.  I ate two packets of chocolate chip cookies in pure, unadulterated frustration, washed down by numerous cups of coffee.  All to no avail!

I was at the end of my tether and, after questioning my mental faculties and indeed my very existence, I found myself wallowing in pit self pity and frustration.  I was teetering on the very edge of sanity with little hope of salvation!

You don't believe me?

You don't, do you!

OK!  You're right! I was telling a porky (pork pie = lie).

I was enjoying some time off work and had some friends from Germany staying with me and was, in general, just too busy to get my backside behind the keyboard.

But that wouldn't really be as interesting, would it!

Sorry to have disappointed you.

I Used To Be Talented? Did I?

I sat and read blog's (properly) for the first time in weeks yesterday.

I thought reading the writings of others would inspire me to write something of my own ... it didn't!

Now please don't go away thinking that I thought that what I'd read was drivel.  That's not it at all.
In fact most of what I read was as funny or informative, as I'd expected it to be.  It's just that yesterday my mind was not firing on all cylinders (friends would argue it never did).  I had trouble stringing sentences together in conversation, so writing anything of interest for my blog was just not going to happen.

Yes folk, it is exceptionally arid around the proximity of my brain these days.

So I put my mind to something simpler ... I designed an adjustable fly screen system which can be inserted into any open window or door and I even knocked up a prototype ... but I digress...

In my other blog (Four Paws Animal Rescue) I don't have to think too hard. The stories that appear there happen and I just pick up the thread (and more often than not, the text) from whoever it happened to.
After that, it's a simple case of presentation, publishing twittering and facebook-ing.

It basically runs on the 'steam' of others and all I do is make it look nice.

Yesterday, as I read blog's and looked at the comments made, I yearned for the days when I was capable of  kicking out witticism after witticism (some may disagree), stir in a few vaguely but badly disguised insults (thank you for the threatening emails), and generally make a nuisance of myself (as my mother always said I did). 

But I am in the doldrums ... stationary in a sea of sea-y stuff  ... and I can't think of a blasted thing to write about.

This?

This isn't writing!

It's moaning!

I am bemoaning my own (temporary I hope) lack of imagination and talent and lamenting the departure of my 'stay-up-at-all-hours' blogging drive.

Overworked, under paid and now robbed of that small amount of creative ability which once entertained people in their thousands ... OK, in their tens ... by an employer that thinks 'private lives' are only for the privileged few.

I don't know what will become of me, having fallen so low, but just in case I'm finding out the locations of all the soup-kitchens and free park benches in Cardiff, stocking up on anti-depressants and I've started a potato vodka still in the garage.

Let's hope it's enough.

Yours sinking fast

The Daddy of The Sym