When one begins quoting Ludacris in a totally serious non-Move Bitch kind of way, that usually means that there is some sort of serious problem lurking below the service or perhaps now I have a penchant for telling people that I’ve got ho’s in different area codes. No matter, because this really is not about Ludacris, as tempting as it might be to write an entire post as to his genius (‘Get back, get back, you don’t know me like that’? Brilliant), this is more about that release of letting things go and letting things out. Despite having that ability to be as prolific as possible there are just those things that are untouchable. The things that I can obsess and fret over and question how exactly I go about finding a remedy to something that’s probably innocuous and then I end up elusive and here we are with me writing as to not explode all over my mother's precious upholstery.
I like that writing can get me to say things that I wouldn’t otherwise say. It’s a matter of who I am saying it to, who I am writing for. It’s for me but I sometimes need the opinions of others to tell me what to do, not make my decisions of course but to make me feel less like I’ve fucked up egregiously. But in the end I think that writing about not being able to write because of some other bullshit, is just a waste of time and adds to the risk of carpal tunnel without ever really saying anything. I want to be able to say things without sounding pretentious or uptight or anal or a flaming ass bitch who writes just for the sake of writing something. I want to be able to say something, not just say anything. The latter is my goal for the year, a resolution of sorts, to not just write for the hell of it about whether or not I wholeheartedly agree with leggings, which I totally do if they’re keeping you warm, but not to wear with a sweater and Uggs, which serves no purpose because ladies, the ass! It is still bare! And also, not 1988! But I digress…oh so none of the above and no lists unless it’s a deep and heartfelt list as to why I could live at home for awhile, number one being, my mother brought me starbucks in bed. Number two being, and then the food was in the refrigerator and I didn’t have to fear for my life while driving through Thomas circle to get to the grocery store. All good.
Though I should touch on the beauty of having people who know me, and know that I would fall madly in love with anyone who gives me both gift cards to Target and Whole Foods and also the sweater I wore on Christmas Eve and subsequently got ridiculously drunk in, smells like nine week old baby. Yum. And that my friends, is the sign of a very Merry Christmas and I hope your Holidays were groovy as well.
*I started this talking about Ludacris and ended with Christmas, so clearly with more time to write ‘something’ I can work on segues. Clearly.