Pure. Blogging. Goodness
Let the Drecky Times Roll
There is some talk on the Medium street about a “writing slump”. While it might seem like I am making a direct reference to Lisa Renee’s post from yesterday (which you should go and read), Justin Cox 🍩 also mentioned a collective writing slump on Facebook, and people like Lon Shapiro have gone completely missing.
For the record, I have not been in a writing slump. Towards the end of his career when he was playing for the Rangers, someone asked Mark Messier about burnout. He said, “I don’t believe in burnout.” I am the Mark Messier of blogging. Please remember to throw this back at me the next time I’m in a writing slump.
When I’m out of ideas or inspiration, I just keep writing. The dreck, gets dreckier. You’re in the deep dreck now. Continue at your own risk.
Time
I haven’t written much lately because the end of the school year is… FUCKING NUTS. Often in April I ask out loud, “What’s so bad about the end of the year? I can’t remember why I was flipping out the day after the kids left last year.” You know what? I can’t tell you now why I was flipping out this year and it was just a week ago. There is no memory of pain. All I know is that I had another psychic aneurism. The spiritual part of my brain exploded, and the rupture let my mojo, chi, and manners ooze out like lava heading to the sea.
Depression
The Boss suffers from major depression. A week ago I took her to the emergency room and she was admitted to a psych ward, where she is now. This is not the first time she has been hospitalized. Since the last one, she has had a very good twenty year run thanks to a cocktail of Zoloft and some helpers.
I often read about depression on Medium. I very much appreciate what people write, especially Amanda Rosenberg, because it helps me gain insight into something I neither experience nor understand.
The Boss’s shrink was instrumental in expediting the process of getting her admitted. She was lucky. She ended up in the right unit with two solid doctors who developed a plan. Their plan seems to be working. She is transformed. There is a very long way to go, but yesterday she laughed for the first time in two years. It is all encouraging.
Medium Is Fucked Up
I’m not sure what is wrong with Medium, but I don’t care. This is the season and I have time to write now, so I’m going to do it, and I’m going to do it here.
I’m actually kind of happy about the lack of numbers. I am normally very chary about online information, for I believe I am one troll fight away from total exposure. It’s a risk I take seriously.
But us and our friends are so deprecated in the Medium universe now that I think we don’t garner much notice, good or bad. That’s good! Anonymity is the fertilizer of dreck! We can let fly. Hippo splatter. Nobody will notice, and if they do notice, we will up our game and garner shekels.
What’s Up for the Summer?
More of the same. The same tired saws. Interviews, fan fiction, food blogging, Stupid Tribune postings, Suburban Shamanism, Notes from the Mill, Things We’d Like to See, but we have to come up with a theme for the summer. The most successful theme so far was Summer of Zappa. For some reason, the “Summer of Zappa” tag doesn’t work, because, as stated before, Medium is fucked, but you can find most of the articles with this search result. To understand the Summer of Zappa you might want to start here:
But fuck Frank Zappa. Zappa was three summers ago. If I was Donald Trump I would make a “big reveal”, but I’m not Donald Trump and a reveal requires that I already have the answer. I don’t have the answer. I have a suggestion.
Let’s make this a Summer of Love. Let’s ruminate on the hippie queen while she is still alive.