Here's the Problem...

Here's the problem with me writing a blog: I'm boring. Exceedingly boring. Unnaturally dull. A real snoozer. My life is comprised of incoherent events strung together haphazardly passing by the corner of No and Where. God just took random beads and stuck them on a string and presented it to me, tying it around my neck and slowly removing each bead and letting the necklace inch menacingly towards my trachea. And he didn't even pick cool beads - brown and puce, primarily, with the occasional spot of green (that was probably my graduation).

So instead of trying to make this about me, I'm just going to share some stories from friends, because the people I know lead far more interesting lives than I do. This is how I squeak by with writing. I've heard it said that a person can do one of two things: live, or write. Writers need to live in order to write so they have to do more with less. I get around this by absorbing the experiences of others as my own.

Next post will be far more interesting, I assure you; primarily because it won't be about me.