Monday, February 15, 2010


I feel like I am a tiger that has lost its stripes. An elephant without a trunk. A bee that can't find its hive. Salt without pepper. A warm beer. Although, a warm beer to some would be appealing. Not me, though. Nope. There was a time not that long ago, I would enter a post quite regularly. I had even started writing a novel. A novel idea, to me. I had gotten up to speed. Par for the course. Cruising. Letting words flow. Like warm butter. Smooth as silk. Like water off a ducks back. A breeze. Then something dramatic happened to me. I met this slick bastard. Oil slick. He could sell ice to an Eskimo. No offense, Nanook. As the saying goes, the rest is... I can't remember. You get my drift. Does this all sound cliche'? I don't, either. Fresh as a new fallen snow. Clear as a bell. Where was I? Oh yea, drama. My new found freedom to write plum escaped me. I was healed. My writings originated from my Id. Well, maybe it was my nightmares. That's the ticket. My hypnotherapist got around to quelling my phobias. Done a real good job, too. Sleep like a baby. Forgot how to write. I guess I'll ask him for a refund. I need to be sleepless in Seattle. You know what I'm saying. I gotta get back to where I once belonged. Get back, JoJo. I will be a'callin. You know who you are. theblogmeister

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