Three days from now, my lovely companion Alissa and I will be on our way to The Great Unknown.  That’s right, gentle reader.  To tool down a road I’ve never seen, to amble through ghost-towns, dusty desert canyons, and the occasional Starbuck’s.  A few thousand miles.  Pshaw!  What’s an oil change and lower back pain?  We’re on the road, my friends!  I suppose I’m ready to get out and unplug for awhile.  I’m taking a blank notebook, an ample supply of writing instruments, and an open mind.  The wristwatch is going in the glovebox, my mind is going to the story-place, and my ass is going to Colorado, Utah, Idaho, Wyoming, and possibly Nebraska.  Miss me, everyone.  I’ll be back before you’re ready for me to be.

It just occurred to me that I’ve been a little–or a lot–remiss in keeping up with this blog so far.  I’ve been working so very much lately.  What’s worse, I’ve been working at a job that seems to suck the very soul from me. 

Don’t get me wrong.  Bartending can have very fun, very high-paced, exciting moments.  I just remember getting hired there many, many years ago and thinking to myself, ‘I’ll probably only be here a few months or so.’  Heh-heh, my friends.  If I’d only known. The only thing that’s been there longer than myself has been the hardwood, the brass, and that damn bottle of Orange Curacao on the bottom rail.  But I digress…

It seems that I saw things very, very differently on the way in.  I saw all these servers and bartenders in funny stripes, hats, and button-laden vests (T.G.I. Friday’s, I know), and I only saw an escape from an even worse job.  I didn’t see all the work, and I certainly didn’t see the jaws of the red-and-white-striped trap poised to snap themselves shut.  All self-pity aside, it seems a bit difficult to escape at times. 

It seems, however, that I’m probably as close as I’ve ever been to leaving that place.  The brain-dip will hopefully be mine to savor.  To jump into that lovely swill of freedom, that day job, that opening up my brown-bag lunch, that leaving work when others don’t slumber and do think to say what they will in my presence. To eat dinner, to sleep, to sleep perchance to have a day job…

Sigh.  Soon, I hope.

I’m sure that most who might read this post–all four of you, that is–know that I try often to be what you might call a writer.  It seems really difficult sometimes to keep up with it.  There are many reasons for this, of course, but I really don’t like listing them all.  When I do list them (in my head or on a screen) it makes them seem like excuses.  Hmmm…maybe they are excuses.  That way, if I do list them, they will seem like excuses, I’ll get sick of myself, then I’ll get back to writing like a silly fiend.  Alright then.  Go list. 

Here’s the list of the top ten lies I tell myself when I don’t write on a particular day.

10.  My brain hurts

9.   My brain hurts

8.  The story is just too vast to finish.  I’m barely even going to address that one except to say that the vastness of it all is my favorite part.  Enough said.

7.  My job is a dead-end, stressful, irritating one.  If I wrote more, I could get out of said crappiness, no?  I hate asking myself questions.  Blast.

6.  I’ll do it tomorrow.  Do you know that most perfectionists are the worst procrastinators?  It’s true, say thankee.

5.  I’m doing research.  That will never, ever change anyway.  Research–at least to me–occurs at roughly the same frequency as breathing or enjoying a cold, refreshing beverage.  Just write, you fool.

4.  I’m waiting for inspiration.  Inspiration to write actually happens to me hundreds of times every day.  I have to stop ignoring it.

3.  I’m too busy applying for graduate school.  That stuff takes a few hours here and there.  While stressful, exacting, and demanding, it isn’t exactly the bane of my existence, either.

2.  I don’t have a nice enough computer.  That’s the ultimate shite excuse.  I have a pen and paper.  In addition, the new-old PC I just came upon will be meatier than ever once  J-double-P gets ahold of the contraption.

1.  I sometimes think I’m a fraud.  Well, if I am, all those people who have me edit their papers and their short stories are fooled, as well.  To hell with it.  Write on, suckahs!

Wow. My first blog. It's sort of like the first bite of tiramisu. Maybe it's like the first time I ever drove a car to the mall. No, I guess it's more like my first blog. Throughout future time indeterminate, I'm going to attempt witty banter, zombie conversation, tips for roasting chicken perfectly, and ideas to change the world. The only thing I'm sure on is roasting a chicken. Read on, gentle word-junkies.