Dot Line Dot Dot

I’ve decided to defeat the purpose of a blog… I shall write this post in code. I have many other reasons but I shan’t say what they are. I shall be contrary. I am making a statement but I won’t say what the statement is.
Whoosh whoosh Whoosh.
Interruption between Harry and Sally. Pink flowers grew in my mind.
There is talk without the dinner table. A bed is obviously enough for conversation.
Everyone’s living on a trampoline.
Twist. Twist. But no… the devil’s gotten hold of my feet. I love him. I bow down before him. But he’s just interested in my feet.
I won’t go. I’m a crossroads dweller. The house is falling apart but the cat says that I’ll get nowhere some day.
There are fucked up people inside me. I’m working on sorting out their lives. About 100 minutes per person.

Stuck

I feel like shutting down this blog and running away. Every single day that I don’t write anything here weighs heavily on me.
I visited a private Chinese room that felt straight out of a Hollywood mafia movie. The host narrated stories so colorfully that he deserves to be on film but I have nothing to say.
I went to a derby. I went for the experience, the joy, the rushing power of so many hoof beats and the roar of the crowd. I felt nothing.
My friends are getting engaged, married, having babies. I go through the motions of joy, support, encouragement, involvement. I can no longer make a distinction between feeling it and knowing it.
I bought new curtains for my room – bright, cheerful pink and pale green stripes. They do nothing to the room, good or bad.
I met an old friend twice in the same week and found I had nothing to say the second time round.
My days are filled. I go from work to friends to books to events and think I am doing well. I am content. Except when I think about the empty pages of my blog and know that really all is not well. I am empty too.
Writer’s existential angst is a trite bitch.