the art of sloth
I've developed a somewhat unhealthy addiction to the tall cans of Arizona Peach Iced Tea.
The weird thing is, they're not even that great. And yet, I'm addicted.
So as I sit here sipping on my mediocre iced tea, devouring a bar of dark chocolate, I realize I am basically beginning my descent into the deep, dark pool of gluttony.
Progress report on the Ann Coulter book:
I'm trying. I'm really trying to get through it. But it's such a pain in the ass; it's just page after page of rambling rants that are so...contrived. She's certainly not funny, and what's worse, she's not even as scathing as I expected her to be; there are long stretches of time when I'm actually bored reading her shit. I thought I'd be experiencing fury and rage, not boredom! I get that she's trying to pull off the "Look! I'm so sarcastic and smart and umm....hot!" bit, but it just comes off as "Look! I'm trying SO HARD!!!!" What's more, her arguments don't make any sense.
But anyway, I'm still going to try and finish it. I was going to save Al Franken's "Lies" for after I finished the Coulter, but I got bored with the Coulter so quickly that I just had to start it.
Here, I was going to write about this idea of escapism tying into my life that had been on my mind since last night, but it would probably come out sounding like utter pretentious bullshit, and I don't need to sound like Ann Coulter. So I'll save us all some trouble and shut up.
I've lost all creative energy - I know I mentioned this before, but now it's getting to a point where I'm beginning to feel panicky. I haven't been writing music, I haven't been writing in general, and I just have absolutely no inspiration or drive. I've tried, God knows I've gone to Kimmel and just sat in the piano rooms trying to make things work, but I've gotten absolutely nothing. Usually I'm fairly good at motivating myself to at least start typing or writing, even if it's bullshit, to just get some ideas flowing, but I don't even have the drive to do that. What the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK.
Anyway, this is turning out to be a rather pointless entry so I'll just end it here.
Ugh, note to self: Avoid writing in blog when PMS-ing.
The weird thing is, they're not even that great. And yet, I'm addicted.
So as I sit here sipping on my mediocre iced tea, devouring a bar of dark chocolate, I realize I am basically beginning my descent into the deep, dark pool of gluttony.
Progress report on the Ann Coulter book:
I'm trying. I'm really trying to get through it. But it's such a pain in the ass; it's just page after page of rambling rants that are so...contrived. She's certainly not funny, and what's worse, she's not even as scathing as I expected her to be; there are long stretches of time when I'm actually bored reading her shit. I thought I'd be experiencing fury and rage, not boredom! I get that she's trying to pull off the "Look! I'm so sarcastic and smart and umm....hot!" bit, but it just comes off as "Look! I'm trying SO HARD!!!!" What's more, her arguments don't make any sense.
But anyway, I'm still going to try and finish it. I was going to save Al Franken's "Lies" for after I finished the Coulter, but I got bored with the Coulter so quickly that I just had to start it.
Here, I was going to write about this idea of escapism tying into my life that had been on my mind since last night, but it would probably come out sounding like utter pretentious bullshit, and I don't need to sound like Ann Coulter. So I'll save us all some trouble and shut up.
I've lost all creative energy - I know I mentioned this before, but now it's getting to a point where I'm beginning to feel panicky. I haven't been writing music, I haven't been writing in general, and I just have absolutely no inspiration or drive. I've tried, God knows I've gone to Kimmel and just sat in the piano rooms trying to make things work, but I've gotten absolutely nothing. Usually I'm fairly good at motivating myself to at least start typing or writing, even if it's bullshit, to just get some ideas flowing, but I don't even have the drive to do that. What the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK.
Anyway, this is turning out to be a rather pointless entry so I'll just end it here.
Ugh, note to self: Avoid writing in blog when PMS-ing.
posted by Deb Oh at 11:58 PM
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