I have decided that this blog is getting boring. And not because of the new font color or the fact that I switched to Blogger beta, a fact which I am regretting because I lost the fabulous color pink that I had found from a random HTML Web site and can never get back, unfortunately.
Nope, it’s boring because I have, simply and frankly, lost the will to write. And I must ask myself why. Or rather, you, since you’re reading this.
Is this a semester-long writer’s block?
Is it the gargantuan decision that I no longer wish to be a traditional journalist that has colored my ability to write anything whatsoever?
The fact that my “editor” at the newspaper (we’re using that term loosely because he gives absolutely no feedback or assistance, just rude remarks and ad hominem attacks that stem from what I believe is jealousy and a deeply imbedded stick up his…) and because of this, I’ve had a remarkable new thought that all other writers are better than me, even Nicholas Sparks, whose books I believe I could write with two eyes closed and while taking a dump?
Is it inappropriate to mention both poo and sticks up asses in one’s blog?
Should I care about what is inappropriate?
Should I just give up now?