Slooooowly my brain leaks out my ears….

Part of the problem I’m fighting now is the boredom and utter lack of ambition, motivation, determination and numerous other words ending in “tion”.

There’s been an overwhelming feeling of despair – frustration – whatever you want to call it. Part of the reason these posts have gone so sporadic – it’s just really really hard to come up with anything that sounds like anyone would give a rat’s patootie about. I have all this fatigue, I’m having trouble focussing and generating ideas, I feel cruddy, my heart feels cruddy, the MG comes and goes, still bleeding sporadically, no thanks to the cat, most recently, somehow I’ve managed to dislocate a rib – you can feel where the muscle and cartilage have pulled away, third rib from the bottom right side – no freakin idea how – FYI, it is bloody uncomfortable…. there is a bump you can actually feel where it’s out… then there’s the cat scratch fever – managed through antibiotics… thyroid levels still wonky but getting better, I mean really – I’m only human.

The trouble focussing and generating ideas, that in itself is really freaking me out – my whole adult working life has been predicated on my being a fresh, seemingly endless, repository of creativity. Well, it seems the notion of “endless” was perhaps a bit premature.

If I can’t generate unique, relevant and creative solutions – that legitimately speak to the corporate dilemmas I’ve been hired to remedy. What the heck am I gonna do?


The longer I am away from the fray, the worse things get. I can’t even apply to anyone or anything because the future remains in such a state of suspended animation, making it impossible to commit to anything.

It’s getting harder and harder. I sit down and try to write a post and nothing comes, before I would force myself to write something – I faked it until I made it. Meaning, if I just got the ball rolling, even if I had to dump the first few paragraphs eventually something worthwhile would emerge. Now that isn’t happening and more often than not, I end up walking away with nothing. What if there’s been massive, irreparable trauma done to my funny gene?

I don’t know.

Maybe I’m driving a red corvette at top speed, head-first into a brick wall called mid-life crisis. Maybe I’m finally cracking up, the long hours of worry, of financial anxiety – knowing the longer I’m out of work the harder it will be to reenter the workforce – the pressure at last getting the best of me. So, who knows what happens next….One of two things – I get better or I get worse, but this limbo is almost unbearable.


Where do I get the application to apply for white-trash status? I don’t know anything about mobile homes – or running “shine” – do green stamps even exist anymore? I hate banjo music. I refuse to hunt possum for christmas dinner. I don’t like “chaw” or white tank tops, or drinking “bud” in my boxers, stained with yesterdays SPAM surprise and Jello mold salad, with little marshmallow in it… I don’t play the fiddle, and I’ve never lost a finger in a combine accident during pickin’ season, I’ve never tipped cows – nor have I had inappropriate relations with a goat. I’ve never sat down to a heapin’ plate of chicken fried steak, and as God is my witness I will never swallow anything called “Grits” – – I’m too old, tired and sick to learn all this stuff.

Why can’t I just be me again?

Have a Great Day