This is just horrible. I realize that, of late, I haven’t had much material to work with in my blog. I think this is because I’m actually gainfully employed for the moment rather than just half-heartedly employed, and I am shocked at how much time it takes to be a harlot. Over the weekend I was so exhausted that I did absolutely nothing worth writing about. I didn’t have sex once. (Well, that’s not true, but it was with E.S., and that’s hardly news by now, is it?) On Saturday night, I stayed home and rolled coins.
So every time I think about blogging, I am torn between two paralyzing thoughts: what if I blog about something boring and the people who read this find it boring and grow to hate me? And what if I don’t blog and the people who read this feel betrayed and grow to hate me? What if I do everything right and still my soul mate and I never meet each other and I live the rest of my life friendless and alone?
Clearly I should have stuck to the orgies. They didn’t leave so much room for self-reflection; plus, they were more fun than my job.
It’s just as well, I suppose, because I’ve gained two pounds (well, 1.6 to be exact) and am obviously on my way to becoming a monstrous blob again. Since my worthiness of love is naturally inversely proportionate to my weight, I predict that soon I will abandon the search for love and just sit around all day eating almond M&Ms.