I’m forcing myself to break the hierarchy at this very moment in writing this post. I have a to-do list. Frankly, scooping the litter box actually seems a bit more appealing than sitting down to write a post without the support of a funny experience or even the willingness to write my Justin Timberlake entry this early in my first month of forced writing. It’s too early to blow everyone’s mind with that comedic gold.

It’s funny to me how tempting working on my novel seems right now. I’ve been planning every morning to open it up each day, and each day I’ve forgotten to do it. There’s always something distracting me. But the moment I have a chore (or a blog entry) that seems less appealing, the novel makes an immediate appearance in the forefront of my mind.

That doesn’t mean I’m going to neglect my unsavory chore (or blog entry) and pick up the writing just because it seems like the easier and more rewarding option. Sometimes you just gotta do what’s got to be done. But…oh my gosh this is the most boring post I’ve EVER WRITTEN!

How ’bout some jokes to liven things up?

Oh, nevermind. I got nothin’. I’m not a comedienne. I’m a girl who gets herself into ridiculous situations then does something stupid in the attempt to extract herself from said situation. It’s a simple formula. Only something strange has happened. My life isn’t very interesting without a job. I guess there’s a small chance I’ve just stopped doing stupid things, but I know that’s not the case. In fact, one of the more stupid things I’ve done was screwing up my laptop and I only did that in the last two weeks. It just wasn’t funny stupid. It was stupid stupid.

Even the discovery of further proof that some animal is indeed living in my laundry room (aka, the magical squirrel) doesn’t seem like enough of a topic to carry an entire post. (By the way, the proof was in no way magical, because magical squirrels do NOT defecate.)

And certainly nothing I say about weight loss will be original, as I have posted on this subject more than once already. My Sister-in-Law suggested several topics in the comments yesterday for me to pursue, but I feel that in order to do them justice, I’d better hear her thoughts on them first. S-i-L is hilarious and should write a blog herself, but as she doesn’t, I will happily steal her funny stories. So no worries, S-i-L, I haven’t forgotten your comments. A Reporter Friend of mine gave me a topic to avoid, which is probably for the best. Just as no one wants to read about my stupid stupid computer woes, he’s right in suggesting that my inability to keep up with installation discs and product keys is not inherently an interesting subject. Thus, for the past two hours I’ve hemmed and hawed (what an awful expression) over what to write about. Pretty certain the resultant 550 words are not nearly as interesting as they could have been if I’d just taken my own suggestion and run with it.

Damn you, Justin Timberlake! Why are you the only thing I can think about?

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I can think of nothing good that can come from cooking dinner at 3:45 pm and eating at 4:30. It means one of two things:

  1. My husband and I have aged 60 years overnight, which explains his propensity for naps and mine for cats.
  2. I’m hesitant to say the other possibility because, obviously, it’s likely the truth. I had nothing better to do.

Well, that’s not entirely accurate. I had plenty to do. Work has slowed down for me significantly as the season is ending (a new one begins in about two weeks, yay!) so that’s not really what I’m avoiding. I did some housework today (although not exactly the tremendous amount of work that needed to be done), so I wasn’t shirking that responsibility either.

No, mostly I think I was avoiding my book. Part of me is more committed to being published than ever, knowing that what I’ve written is interesting, wholesome, fun, and unique. At least, I hope it’s unique. My main character’s name is Darcie. Her ‘love interest’ is named Brendan. Last night I began reading another young adult book who’s main character is named D’Arcy and who is dating a guy named Brendan. That is just freakily coincidental.

Anyway, I can’t exactly figure out what’s stopping me from making progress. I’ve given myself a deadline of August to have my rewrites complete, but at this rate it will be August 2011.

I can’t think of anything I need exactly to get me started again… I’m too much of a pansy to post the first chapter here for general critique. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but I know that if I don’t stop avoiding it soon, I’m going to turn even more gray than I already am and begin going to bed at 7. And there is the distinct possibility that I could become crazier about cats than some people already consider me. This is a worrisome trend!

So I started college at a pretty hoitytoity, southern, liberal arts school after having spent four years at a counter-culture, crazy, liberal arts high school. Very different in many ways, but still, the feel was similar in a way; both schools were small, tight-knit communities and only about three miles away from one another.

What I loved about high school was the unique environment for learning with students who really wanted to be at school every day. What I loved about college was living on campus and getting to make my own schedule. I got lucky with my potluck roommate, who among other lovely character traits, allowed me to rearrange the furniture in our room on a monthly basis and helped me make friends with people I was too shy to talk to on my own.

Once I was relaxed around all these fun new friends, I have to admit we had a lotof fun. We spent a lot of time drawing with crayons and colored pencils, studying and/or not studying, talking on AIM, trying on each others’ clothes, fixing each others’ hair, watching chick-flicks, driving to and dining at Waffle House and Krispy Kreme, and in general wasting time. From what I understand, the other girls stayed up all night on multiple occasions while I wimped out and was in bed before midnight. But there was one night where I joined in the fun and have regretted missing out on all the other all-nighters ever since. That was fun.

That evening was a conglomeration of all the things I loved about college, most of which I mentioned above, with a dash of procrastination and a good deal of delusional humor. I even wrote a paper (due the next day – the final for a composition class, actually) commemorating the event. My one and only all-nighter. {And Mom, to satisfy your curiousity, I can honestly say that there was no alcohol at all involved in that evening. We were far too used to having our drinks provided for free on frat row to spend our own money to illegally obtain anything otherwise.}

I am fairly certain I would have gotten an A on that paper had my teacher actually taken the time to read it. Instead, he gave me an A in the class, citing my excellent papers up to that point. It’s probably for the best that he didn’t read it. I tend to incriminate myself when I do personal writing…