Ok, if someone actually read my blog, that person might be quick to point out that I posted three entries and then disappeared. If that person were also an authority on blogging, social media, or self-indulgent cries for help, it might also be noted that this is a great way to guarantee that I never get a reader or that a general lack of response de-incentivized the process for me and without a quick easy reward I’d never continue (again, destroying any chance of getting a reader).

Well fuck that guy. I’ve said from the outset that this blog is for me to spew words when my words need spewing and like most spew, it is probably not meant for consumption by anybody but the dog (or, depending on your definition of spew, a girl who swallows). The truth is, 2009 has been the worst year of my life and I’ve just been too busy or too depressed to post anything. So fuck you, theoretical opinionated bastard. I’ll spew when I’m good and ready (which is right now, I guess).

It’s hard for me to elaborate on why 2009 has been so terrible as some of it is classified but in broad strokes, it’s something like this: Every second of every day is spent doing what I have to do with no end or reward in sight. Now sure, lots of people say that sort of thing but in my case, it’s absolutely true. I work all the time, I’m broke, I have four kids, my wife works long hours, we can’t afford daycare, everything we own is broken, the cat’s bulimic, my wife swears like a sailor, I’m only as good as my last tv commercial, I work artistically unrewarding freelance jobs ‘cause I’m broke but I have to stay up late to finish them because of the demanding kids, I dream of independent projects but have no time to create them, my commute is an hour long, there’s a million reasons we can’t have sex, there’s nowhere to masturbate, I haven’t been out socially during this presidency, the answering machine is maxed out with collections calls, I have unread mail from July, and I’ve become very fat.

I just keep thinking to myself, “this is how it happens. Life just wears you down until your dreams are forgotten and the lawn is a topic of serious concern.” And maybe that is how it goes for some. But what I’m noticing about myself is that even without a chance to create, the inspiration to try is ever present and in that observation I find some hope. Maybe this stage of my life can be waited out and when I emerge at the other side I’ll take a breath and find I’m still me and I can still make…things.

Until then, I endure in semi-silent suffering, crushed by the weight of innumerable responsibilities, serving in perpetuity, trapped in my head, and sucked dry by parasites.