An Exercise in Free-writing, Which I Should Have Trashed, But Will Share With You Instead, Because I Am Exceptionally Odd Today

I'm brainfried. That's really the only reason I can come up with as to why I can't think of anything to write  about today. Oh, sure, I could do a cat blog or pimp my MamaPop articles more, but really, self? Are you that much of a desperate whore?

Don't answer that.

I'm dealing with some drama right now, and I don't mean the kind you buy tickets for. (if you're going to do that, and you're in the NYC area, you should go see Glee Club, which you can watch a preview of here.) I've been, in the words of my dear girl Amber, in a depressive spiral for the last week or so, and I find myself censoring myself more times than not, because seriously, who wants to listen to the depressed woman bitch about being depressed? It's repetitious and tedious, at best. 

But that's what this blog is about, isn't it? Not the repetitious and tedious part, smartasses, the bitching part. For every Bachelor recap you get, there's an entry about how I can't leave the house without more or less becoming another personality. Yin and yang, funny and serious. It's the nature of my brain, and if anyone can tell me why I feel this deep need to constantly apologize for it, I'd love to hear it. 

My therapist told me a few weeks ago that she is fairly amazed that my personality didn't actually split somewhere along the line, that the Danielle part and the Miss Banshee part didn't separate entirely.

 Well. that's certainly comforting to hear. 

"Pretty amazing you didn't become Sybil, dude. Sure you're not losing time or waking up in strange places?"

Well not yet, thanks for inserting that little image into my head, it wasn't crowded enough as it was. 

I have no idea where I'm going with this, other than I felt I needed to write today, dammit, even though I was up all night writing this little piece of literary masterwork. Perhaps it's my own self-doubt as a writer that forces my hand sometimes. Perhaps it's because I'm talking constantly with other writers, who do neato things like write plays or fiction or poetry or all the things I can't do. Perhaps I'm just bored and depressed and feel like I need to be heard, dammit. 

Perhaps I'm just exceptionally lonely today.

Okay, that's enough for now, I think I've made my point. 

"What in the name of God's underbritches is your point, please?" 

My point is that sometimes a writer just needs to write, and sometimes she is weird enough to put it up on the internet, and sometimes her ego is just strong enough to think someone might want to read it. That's my point. I'm going to take a nap now, because this entry is getting incredibly strange, even for me, and I have no zinger to end it with, so I will end it with a period, which is the traditional way to end a piece of writing. 



An Exercise in Free-writing, Which I Should Have Trashed, But Will Share With You Instead, Because I Am Exceptionally Odd Today — 10 Comments

  1. I once wanted to be a writer and I can’t even compose a 140 character tweet unless it’s a reply to @someone! You are doing just fine AND entertaining as can be!

  2. I have written many a blog post that started out somewhere and ended up … well, somewhere to the left of “wherever the hell THIS is supposed to be.” So I empathize.
    Sniffing dry-erase markers sometimes helps. Or finding a colony of mice in the kitchen, behind the cat food.

  3. Wow. So my afternoon at work was pretty craptacular and I really want to post a rant about it at my LiveJournal, but I’m not going to. Why? Because the only people who read my livejournal are actual RL friends and they’ve got to be sick of all the doom, gloom and negativity.
    So yeah, I kinda understand some of what you’re saying here.
    But seriously, I love your blog. I love all of it. The stuff where you bare it all and the stuff where you’re funny and the stuff where Stewie posts. All of it. Thank Ebert I found it.
    I hope the spiral stops or turns around or something.

  4. Well I liked reading your blog. I think you are brave to look inside yourself and then tell the world. Everyone who is talented or even interesting have splits in their personalities. Would you really want to be one of those “never out of their box” folks? Would you really give up your writing to make what’s for dinner the most important thing in your life? If you write and people read then you are a writer and a success.

  5. i read the whole rant you wrote
    it was funny. it was good.
    i never watch that show (unless i’m with my sister and she forces me to watch) because i just don’t care that much but your story was entertaining
    keep writin’ and i’ll keep readin’

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