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I must admit that my interest in things political has been on the wane as of late. I suspect it’s got to do with this moving thing. But I do find myself with time on my hands, and much as I wipe them off  (the time remains) and I don’t seem to want to use it by ranting about the  continuing antics of Mitt-wit and other GOPer personages.

For those of you who aren’t WordPressers, we have this notification thing, which once you comment, sends you all the other comments to that post. In that I notice that some of my bloggy friends garner kazillions of comments.  At least it appears to me who has never had my dream fulfilled of a real forum of discussion.

I say oh well. I know not what is the magic formula. Perhaps it’s my personality, or lack of same, or the shortness of my hair,  or the model of the car I drive. I mean, the world is slightly off kilter when the PioneerWoman gets 40,ooo plus readers to devour her latest words on mascara.

Which all comes to mean that I am not sure if I’m reaching a natural turning point wherein I become that hopelessly self-centered blogger of trivia. And some of them, as I point out are hugely successful. And I read their blogs and enjoy them immensely. Perhaps I’m, just *gasp* BORING!!

Well perhaps I am.

That’s an indictment isn’t it?

Could anything be worse?

Cancer ridden? Bigamist? Immoral trollop?

Not as bad as being boring.

I know I have suffered more from boredom in the last weeks than I could have imagined. I guess to be bored is to be boring.

In any event, (whatever that means) I feel strangely unable to think of anything witty, or brilliant to say.

Do I have writer’s block?

Dorothy Parker would know. I could ask her, except she’s dead.

Well, I have to head off to the laundromat. Oh I wish I could regale you with tales of that experience. At 62, I really figured those days were behind me I tell ya.

And then off to pick up the debit cards from the bank, pay the Verizon bill, stop by the post office for mail, and about three or four other exciting things. Boy don’t you envy me? I envy me. Perhaps that is the problem. I’m self-absorbed. Or absorbent. Or absorbing, or I’m simply into abs.

Go figure.

 

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