What has happened?
I just don't feel like writing of late.
Funny things abound, happily bouncing their way to my brain, then skidding to a halt as the comic molecules realize they're not welcome.
Could it truly be that job hunting has slurped my creativity to the point of obsoletion?
It seems so.
I even went to Palm Springs this weekend for a girl's night out, which is perfect fodder for blogging.
The J-Lo-okalikes, the pool scene antithetically complete with one pale, skinny dweeb (my favorite kind of guy. for real, which may be why the Palm Springs pool scene provides little excitement for me) asking me if I thought the buff tanster strutting past us every 2.2 seconds may have emotional issues, and what type of car do you suppose he drives?, the three-roll sushi dinner for $80, and the neon cheeseness that is Costas Nightclub, normally gives me a writer's rush. But it left me flat.
Hangover, and flat.
Hangover, like most of the other Palm Desert Marriott guests. And flat. Like none of them.
What to do?
Making fun of people, at least, used to perk my muse.
Is someone teaching me some kind of sick lesson?
God, is that you?