I’m afraid I won’t be posting anything to this blog today.
I hope no one was looking forward to it or anything, because it’s just not happening. I try to make myself post something once a week because I think it’s good writing practice and because I enjoy it. (I don’t enjoy blogging while I’m doing it, of course. I like it later, when a spambot tries to sell me knockoff purses by commenting “Fantastic publish, very informative. I’m wondering why the other experts of this sector don’t realize this!” on a post I wrote about how drinking water will turn you into a mermaid. Then it’s fun.)
You may have noticed that there’s been radio silence on my end for the last few weeks, and that is because I forgot I have a blog.
Just kidding. I think about this dumb blog all the time. It will be three years old next week and I’m going to buy it a cake. Because blogs are virtual and do not have mouths, stomachs, or an understanding of traditional birthday activities, read that sentence as, “I want dessert and I’m grasping at straws to justify it.”
Sometimes Monday creeps up on me and I realize I haven’t done anything bloggy all week. When this happens, I start to panic. I think, “For the love of all that is holy, Stephanie, haven’t you done anything interesting this week?”
Usually I can think of something by digging up some memory from the past, like the night I broke a grocery store, or the day I thought Jesus had come for me. I tried to do that this week, but I could only think of really short experiences– the kind that can be summed up in a tweet or two. Like the time my mom let the other girl scouts in my troop pour glue on my face while I was sleeping, or the night I didn’t go to prom and stepped on cupcakes instead. Odd, yes. A little sad, maybe. Regardless, there’s not enough to base a whole list on it.