Left index finger on the F, right on the J
My writing muscles have atrophied, there’s no way around it. No matter how much I suck them in, they still hang out in rolls over their belts and jiggle when they run. Last week at the beach I kept thinking of Grand Sweeping Posts About Life, but as soon as I even thought about attempting a first sentence, it felt like those sorry muscles were trying to strut around in a string bikini, when clearly what they should have been wearing was the full-on Mom Bathing Suit with the cover up ON. And here is where I need to stop for a second and come clean about the fact that I wore a bikini to the (very public and crowded) beach last week, and oh HO the irony of that last sentence is not lost on me and my (other) atrophied muscles.
All of that nonsense is to say that I hope you’ll hang in there for the next week or so as I build my endurance back up to the point where I can type more than just two measly paragraphs before having to stop and take a break, red-faced and wheezing with my hands on my knees, browser open to Facebook. Or, the old standby: resort to pictures. Pictures have become a little bit of a cop-out for me lately when I have been sitting staring at a blank screen for ten minutes and can’t think of a single word to write. Instead of pushing through, I pull up iPhoto and root around for inspiration. But then I just think, “Well shoot, a picture’s worth a thousand words, AMIRIGHT?” and I upload, resize and publish that shit and DONEZO.
Well, I’m calling shenanigans. SHENANIGANS, I SAY. It’s words only for the rest of this week (uh, which is only three posts, BUT STILL!) as a little push to get those lazy-ass writing muscles toned and lean. Bikini ready, if you will.
So I shall start small
With just this little haiku