Sometimes I am just so uninspired. This is one of those times. I have nothing interesting to write about. Well, at least nothing I want to share with the world at large. I mean, who actually wants to hear about how mundane my existence really is? I should take up fiction writing. At least then I'd have some interesting anecdotes to regale you with. I think it might come as a shock to some of you, since many people believe that living at the center of the universe (i.e.: nyc) must be the most fun and exciting experience, but to be quite honest, I'm rather bored. Surprise. Maybe I'd be less bored if I didn't have to go to work every day. I'm sure my life would be much more eventful if I just wandered aimlessly about New York during the day instead of the blindingly dull routine that is my actual existence: get up, shower, subway, work, lunch, work, subway, home, sleep. repeat. Again. And again. Ugh. I never realized how boring full time work would be when I was a kid. Perhaps that's cos I was talented and I always assumed that I'd become rich and famous right away and therefore rescue myself from the boring doldrums of repetitive day labor in the silicon alley pixel mines. Perhaps I just need to shake things up. Quit my job. Join the Peace Corps. Maybe if I wasn't so lazy...

It's almost fall, thank God. I'll be able to do another promotional mailing and take my portfolio out again. I'm sure I can finagle some more work this time, what with all the real tear sheets I have now. How glorious. Proof that I can be trusted to get a job done on time. And done well, I might add.

I've been feeling very antsy lately about writing. It's funny. When I used to write just to record the day I was prolific. Now that there is the least bit of pressure for me to write I find my self blocked. Like a water fountain with a big wad of gum stuffed in it. I'm going to blow any minute now. And then, watch out! There have been so many times recently when I've yearned to sit down and write. I have these nebulous ideas wafting around my head, crying to be set free. But it's funny how I always manage to get involved in something else, usually something really boring, as an excuse not to create. Here is the thought pattern:

"Boy, I really want to write."

"Wait, I can't do that right now, I have to do my laundry (or wash the dishes, ride the stationary bike, clean out the kitty box, etc.)"

Something always comes up.

I have to stop living my life like this. Because something is always going to come up, no matter what. I just have to make my self write and leave the dishes for another day.

Sounds easy, huh? Oh, how I wish it was...