Happy Wednesday, lovers of the world.

Oh man, I really meant to “blog” once a day, but the days just bleed into each other and before I know it, it’s several days since a “post”. Plus, when I do sit down to write, I often feel like, “Why bother?” and then get back up and wander to another room.

It’s the Shit Mountain problem, which means there is a Mountain of Shit already out in the world, and the thought of adding to it sickens me. I know that somewhere out there, at this very moment, Dan Brown is hunched over his Powerbook hacking away at another terrible novel, and Julia Allison is taking photos of her sad little self, and 10,000 maladjusted teen girls are writing incoherent fan fiction in which Edward Cullen takes them to prom then bones them in the backseat of a Prius.  Literate society is asphyxiating beneath the weight of the hideous aspirations of “writers”, and some days it just feels criminal to add to the problem.