My Life Is Apparently A Seinfeld Episode

I'm kind of done feeling crappy about the fact that I haven't been posting here with anything even vaguely approaching regularity lately. Which is to say that I'd LIKE to be done feeling crappy about it, but my hyperactive guilt complex won't let me be completely done with it, so I just keep trying to tell myself I'm done with it in the hopes one day that will actually be the case. And since that's not working out so well, I'm also trying to remind myself of my daily successes, thinking that maybe if I focus on the things I'm doing well, not only will I be able to distract myself from the crushing failure of my complete inability to write anything of substance lately, I will also find some nugget of inspiration therein.

Of course, reminding myself of my daily successes would be a lot more productive if I could think of anything at which I was succeeding that is more significant than "showered before 6:00pm." Unfortunately, I think the problem at the root of my writer's block is the same problem at the root of my lack of significant accomplishments: I am boring.

I floated this theory past my Blogger Brother a month or so ago, and he tried to persuade me that it's not that I'm boring; it's that, as a stay at home mom, the intellectual stimulation and attendant social outlets of the workplace are not as available to me. So, it's not ME. It's the fact that I see the same four walls, day in and day out, and I have very little in the way of adult conversation to remind me how my brain works. It's a comforting thought, I suppose, but while I do agree with him to an extent, the fact remains that I'm pretty boring too.

Or maybe I should say that I'm boring in the sense that the things I find interesting are not things that lend themselves easily to clever discussion. At least, not in this forum. Because while I could chat about Stargate SG-1, my views on Stargate SG-1, and my relationship with Stargate SG-1 for hours on end (and have in the recent past), these are subjects I prefer to reserve for my future LJ project with Snark's Mistress. And while I would have no problem riffing on the problems of my favorite trainwreck blogger, there are other people who have started their own pages specifically devoted to his complete and total ineptitude, and who are therefore doing a better job than I could ever do.

As for my usual fall-back topics of conversation? Well, Turtle has been in a mood lately, so I find myself more likely to put him in time-out until he turns 35 than I am to find something he does amusing enough to write about it. And as for my diet - well - I tend to think I have exhausted that discussion, particularly since I seem to be at a plateau at the moment. A plateau I like to call "too much ice cream in a one-week period because McMama is a very very very very very very very very very bad influence and I am weak. WEAK, I SAY!" Maybe when I have sufficiently recovered from my crappy food binge, I will have more to say on that subject, but for now, let's just agree to let that one go, shall we?

So where does that leave us? Well, apparently, it leaves us with yet another post about absolutely nothing. Aren't you glad you checked in for that? Yeah. Me too. I guess that means it's just about time I declare a summer hiatus, which seems to be what a lot of my other favorite blog people have done already, but with 150% less guilt on their parts. I will, of course, check in periodically, if I have something of actual interest to say. But otherwise, I think I will surrender to the fact that my tendency to stay indoors when the temperature climbs over 100 degrees, while a smart move on my part in terms of survival, nonetheless makes it much more difficult for interesting things to happen to me. And therefore, gives me virtually nothing to talk about. (And I still manage to use more than 700 words to get around to that point. Ahh, the irony.)

I can only hope that come fall, when I start venturing out of doors with slightly more regularity, I will again find clever and witty things to say. Or at least fake it better. A girl can dream, anyway.