...That I Should Start Writing Again.

Last night. Late. Whilst in the shower.

Some people do their best thinking on the commode; I do mine in the shower.

Maybe it's the vulnerability we inevitably experience in each of those scenarios –- in one, your pants are puddled around your ankles, effectively shackling you to you to your seat; in the other, you're completely, butt-a** naked (unless, y'know, you're Tobias Funke and possessed of a paralyzing and –- no disrespect to actual sufferers –- brilliantly, riotously funny gymnophobia). You are quite literally a captive to your situation in those moments, so what else is there to do but think?

Anyhoo, so I was in the shower, as I often am, and thinking, as I often do. And I just knew it was time to start writing again. Less, I think, because I have anything specific to say and more out of some fundamental need to be heard –- y'know, as something other than the echo of my own voice in my head.

See, I've had trouble catching my breath lately. I mean literally. It's like I've been laced into some invisible medieval corset and I can't seem to get my ribs to expand enough to make room for my lungs. I keep yawning, drawing in these huge gulps of air, but there's nowhere for the air to go, so it just hisses right back out. And then my heart starts beating faster, compensating for the work my lungs are failing to do, pumping furiously –- like a novice cyclist towing a covered wagon up a steep incline.

In other words I feel a bit … I don’t know -– constricted, weighed down. And one theory is that writing can be a useful tool for unburdening.

Soooo, I’ve started a(nother) blog. I know, I know –- how 2007 of me. But then, I’ve always been a bit behind the curve. Took me three years to finally squeeze my reluctant ass into a pair of skinny jeans. And even then I only rarely wear them in public. They’re just so … unforgiving. So unless you’re 5’10” and a buck twenty (I’m not), you better be really comfortable in your own skin (I’m getting there).

Consider this blog my skinny jeans, then. It took me a while to warm up to the idea, and I’m still not sure how much I really want anybody to see me in it. But maybe with just the right top and the perfect pair of kicks, I can rock the look.