Chip of the old block

Every time I stop doing something I ”claim” to be good at, the whole ‘block’ theory comes to my rescue. Say, if someone asks me, why haven’t you updated your blog in months? “Writer’s block. Duh.” Or, “Did you finally finish that Zen and the art of motorcycle blah blah, yet?” “No man, serious reader’s block.” “Finished your part of assignment?” “Assignmenter’s block. No, really!” You get the drift.

So suddenly, when yesterday a familiar craving arose and made me restless to the point of overcoming my eater’s block and consuming double the amount of midnight snacks I consumer otherwise, I was shocked. I mean, how else can you expect a person to react on acknowledging this craving, when she couldn’t even remember the password AND the login ID to her blog (even when she claims to be an avid blogger), and hasn’t tweeted in more than a month (even when she pretends to be this twitter goddess. Okay, she must stop overrating herself)? Me, I didn’t know how to react. So, I just decided to strategize my next blogging moves with gusto while torturing my guts-o. Heh. Feels good to be writing witty things again. What?

Maybe I should take this slow, this whole back to blogging world thing. No one’s waiting really, I don’t see the red carpet rolled at my feet, and there’s definitely no drum-rolls. Yet. Except for this really irritating “chik-chik-chik-chik-chik” sound some weird ass creature makes EVERY night at 12 a.m. in our bathroom. I know what humping lizards sound like, so that’s pretty much ruled out here. Is it the crickets? Which is ironic considering how it’s the football season, not the cricket season. Geddit? 😉 See what I was talking about?!

Anyway, I guess I should take it slow. Maybe slower than one does the morning after the night of inebriated mishaps. So well, I’m like this really wasted MBA final year student, whose excuse for not being able to ‘manage’ a single personal blog is the drunkard’s block, which in my case is.. that’s right.. the blogger’s block!

I see I’m back to square one. At least an MBA in Marketing is teaching me how to faff to save my ass, if nothing else! See ya when I see ya, oh non-existent readers of this blogpost!

P.S. Don’t try to correlate the title of this post to the actual content. I just wanted to accommodate the b-word there as well 😛

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