The crickets are chirping like crazy tonight, I can even hear them over my ever-loud, possibly broken air conditioner which could cover the sound of a gunfight (I know this because those happen in Levittown all the time…).

I haven’t written anything worthwhile in months.

I don’t even know if those things that I wrote months ago were even worthwhile.

I used to write a lot of poetry, but I don’t do that any more.

I used to write a lot, but I don’t do that any more either.

I miss coming up with poems and having ideas and thinking they were beautiful even if they really weren’t. I miss being inspired and not feeling constantly blocked by writers (that’s what writer’s block means… right?). I miss having something to say even if it was really nothing.

And goddamnit, I used to be pretty gosh darn good at saying something about nothing and going on for quite some time about it.

See?

Eh, whatever, maybe it’s just a fluke. “It” in this scenario could mean anything from the writing to the block, who knows? We’ll find out? I keep typing the homonyms for the words I’m thinking of, my fingers must be sleepy…

That means that it’s time to put on my pajamas and brush my teeth and then probably play Warcraft until five in the morning. Just kidding, I’m trying to cut back.

But seriously if AIM doesn’t say I’m idle by like midnight, start yelling at me and/or having philosophical conversations with me.