Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Toxic Love




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The title has nothing to do with my post today. It just happens to be the title of the song I'm listening to. Comes from the soundtrack of Fern Gully: the Last Rainforest, and features Tim Curry's singing prowess.

I am also a fan of Tim Curry.

Anyway. I haven't really had anything to blog about ever since my last post. I can feel my brain starting to atrophy (a line I've grown rather fond of, ever since I figured out that atrophy actually meant the gradual degradation of a muscle and was not a typo). There were a lot of instances that made me stop and go "Hey, this is something I can go write about," but, well, you know how it is. You finally find something worth smearing the hallowed ground of your blog with, and several hours later, it's flown away like a hanky during a storm.

(Ophie Dimalanta had something to say about this in relation to writing poetry, or writing in general: If you can't remember the instance you want to write about several days after it happens, then it isn't worth writing about).

This brings me to my "topic," for lack of a better word, in this post. Writing, or the lack thereof. That's lack used twice in a paragraph. Now thrice.

To say that I haven't written anything even remotely interesting in days is an understatement, unless you want to know more about shaping your abdominal muscles, which considering my admirable girth, is ironic coming from me (I am in shape! Round is a shape!). And the sad thing about it is that I'm not even trying - you could count the number of times I've opened Live Writer or pulled out my legal pad and pencil the past few months for a serious sit down in one hand. By the way, if you understood that last sentence without having to reread it, then you have admirable attention span. And now after reading that, you will go over my second to the last sentence in this paragraph.

You remember me talking about my Murakami diary? I probably only used it for the first few days of the month, and promptly forgot about it (so why the hell am I talking about it now?) thanks to the big-ass contraption in my room called a desk. The desk has drawers, by the way. Which explains why I forgot about it.

If you still don't get it, then wow.

On a related note, I just finished reading Ninsy's copy of Life of Pi. Which was a largely impressive book, to say the least. Yann Martel now joins the ranks of the Canadian authors I read and respect, although the spirituality of the book might have been a bit too tongue-in-cheek. Finding religion in desperation is a well-overused cliche, in my opinion. But a good book it was, nevertheless. Comparable to The Little Prince.

Wow, I'm just rambling. I no longer have a point. On a final note, I would just like to say that my room has been transformed into a playground for three cats. They slept with me last night. I woke up with two cats sleeping on the desk (beside my laptop!), and one at my feet. No doubt to nibble on my unsuspecting toes whilst I snoozed.

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