Nuthin’ but words

I have finally done it. I have emptied out my brain. Gotten mired in the bog. Used up all my reserves. Let’s face it folks, I have the dreaded Blogger’s Block, and it’s difficult to move forward. I lose steam lately after the first couple of sentences. See, losing steam already, but I must forge ahead. My blog is withering.

Today my friends, the subject is nothing. My intent here is to get words on the screen, to prove to myself that I can do just that. Can I write 300 words about nothing? Yes, I think I can!!! Many people write something about nothing every day, so why shouldn’t I? I’ve already done that, you say? Touché.

In my defense, I never started this adventure to write something profound every day, er week, er whenever, and it appears that I have succeeded enormously in not doing that very thing. For an example of my fine work about nothing, see “Does This Make My Butt Look Big?” Interestingly, this benign, dumb little post continues to be the one with the highest readership. Seriously, not my best work, yet here I am referring to it. I guess people just can’t get enough of THAT question. I’ve even thought about removing THAT post, and I’m kind of sorry that I really wrote THAT one. I would lose most of my “by chance” readers, though. All those people who expend so much energy researching how butts are perceived. An important group of people for me, it turns out.

Speaking as someone who would love to write something more than a blog some day, I’m not exactly gaining ground on that particular goal. I have great dreams/ideas about what I’m going to write next, then when I have the time to sit down and write, a big fat nothing comes out. Why IS that? Do I not have a life? Actually, I have several lives, all contiguous. I meet myself coming and going, so no, it’s not that I don’t have a life.

Rather, my problem seems to be whether I can write 300 words about something sort of interesting. Is my life interesting? Incredibly so, at least to me. To others? Maybe, but the words just won’t flow right now. Keep checking back, though. My intentions are the best, and I hope to have something worthwhile to read soon-ish.



Well, here we are … still.  Twenty-three years later.  I’m spelling out twenty-three here not because it’s proper, nor because I can (I can spell incredibly well, you know), but because spelling it out seems to help describe tweeennnnnnnnnty-threeeeeeeeeee years so much better than 23 does.  Two decades and three years.  Two hundred seventy-six months.  Eight thousand three hundred ninety-five days.  While I can spell incredibly well, I’m not much of a mathematician, so that’s as far as I will define it except to say it’s almost a quarter of a century.  That probably says it best.  At any rate, it’s a long-ass time.

It’s as comfortable as a well-worn glove, or a pair of pre-washed jeans and a t-shirt that have been laundered over and over so many times they feel like a second skin.  No, I take that back.  It’s more like sweat pants or pajamas, and no underwire bra or wedgie panties.  Johnny just hates wearing underwire bras and wedgie panties anyway.  It’s like slippers, or better yet, fuzzy socks.  It’s like being naked.  It’s THAT comfortable. 

I might point out that there are a few drawbacks to knowing someone else so well, but for the most part, it’s all good.  No more fretting about what the other person thinks … hell, we know what each other thinks before we even think it ourselves.  As I said, sometimes it’s a drawback as when, “Ooooohhh, he’s reeeeally  going to be pissed about this!” when some catastrophe awaits him at home.  At other times, we can look at each other and raise our eyebrows in subtle understanding (in my case, one eyebrow at a time which just drives him c-r-a-z-y ’cause he doesn’t have that particular talent). Or the occasional nod or slight smirk to indicate that, yep, we both agree that whatever excuse we just heard from one of our kids is, frankly, BS.

It doesn’t seem like twenty-three years has gone by, and then again, sometimes it does.  Especially when I look back at pictures of the two of us before we got married.  We looked something like this:

While we were still dating …

 On our wedding day … 

… and  now.

Perhaps the time passed is most apparent when looking at pictures of our kids when they were their little bitty selves: 

I have numerous variations of this picture, each one different and some better of one kid than another, but all glorious in portraying their personalities at this age.  After all, just getting them to look in the same direction was an accomplishment!

… and now.

 I’ve been thinking about what twenty-three years means.  I think it means we’re good now.  Through thick and thin, we’re going to make it.  If I could stop time and still manage to grow old with all of these people, I most certainly would.  Staying young just doesn’t give you the full story.

Happy Anniversary to my Sweetie!  I love our life, and onward we go.  The next few years will bring so much change, but we’ll be there for each other, as always.

For those of you who thought this was a prequel to 24 (love that violent and unbelievable show), boy did I have  you fooled!