Drawing a Blank

I don't have anything to write about today. Literally nothing.

(The only light-bulb lighting up above my head is this one)

It was bound to happen sooner or later. I've basically written a blog a day for nearly two months now. And I've given you gold this week! Gold! (Maybe if I repeat words enough for emphasis and then give them a picture of gold for reinforcement, they will forget I have written nothing...) So, you know, if you want to give me a free pass tonight, go for it. We should all be so generous.

My mind is empty. No thoughts in there. Which is nothing new. But somehow I normally manage to squeeze a pointless musing or opinion out of my mind grapes. But not tonight. I'm too tired, me thinks. No thought wine floweths.

I had two 7am days this week. As in show up at B&N at 7. As in wake up at 5:45. Andrew is going to say, "Cry me a fucking River" or something. Probably not that, because I'm pretty sure he realizes that crying a river is impossible. The body literally can't produce enough tears to create anything even remotely resembling a river. Not even a stream is achievable with the amount of tears in the human body. Not even with a tear extracting machine (i.e. Up).

But he is gonna say something about me whining about having to wake up at 5:45 two days this week. And 7:45 another day. And then 8:30 tomorrow. But he's not on a human's sleep schedule. His is freakish. So his high-and-mighty opinion doesn't matter.

So, yeah... the brain cells aren't awake enough to write anything other than a blog about having nothing to write a blog about.

I did drink a coffee for the first time ever today. That I bought. I never drink coffee. But by 9:30 I needed it. So I bought one. Some white-mocha-expresso-something-or-another. I still don't know what that means. But I drank it. And it was alright. I felt less tired for a while. And I drummed my hands on the counter and railing for some reason. I think it was a side effect of the coffee. I may experiment tomorrow. Take the coffee again and then see if I turn into Ringo Starr.

(Say what you will about Ringo Starr, but the man could grow sideburns and a mustache.  [Who was saying anything bad about Ringo Starr?])

That's all she wrote. Ima eat and pass out.

Good night.