Mr Mascellani's Musings

Some Days

I can’t think of anything to write about. I truly can’t. So, I guess, this is going to be one of those ‘I can’t thinkof anything to write about?pieces that is done in response to the advice oft given to those who suffer from writer’s block: “just write? Just write whatever comes to mind, don’t censor,don’t edit, and don’t revise. Usually, when I ‘just write?I get in touch with my inner nerd and I end up writing sci-fi porn. But that usually doesn’t happen until I have written over 1,000 words. This piece will be about 500 words, so I guess you’ll miss out on the sci-fi porn.

I wonder if anybody will be reading this second paragraph. Hey there, if you’re still reading. I know that these ‘I can’t think of anything to write about?pieces can really suck; so, I really appreciate the fact that you have stuck with it this far. I mean, I probably would have left after the second sentence of the first paragraph.But here you are, still reading. You are a kind, patient, and somewhat optimistic person. I like you. I wish I could tell that this piece would get better, more interesting, and more exciting- but I can’t. In fact, it will probably just plod along pointlessly and then come to very abrupt and unsatisfying end.

Almost everyday I fight the urge to delete, erase, eradicate, get rid of everything in this journal and juststop, forget about it, and give up on it as a bad joke. I was about to do just that when I got an email from a reader telling me that she likes what I write about and that she tries to read something that I write everyday. I guessed that if one person likes what I what I write then there must be others. In fact, I know this to be a fact. But I will never understand why. Anyhow, I decided to keep going with this journal.

But it’s difficult. I am hermit loner (actually, that isn’t strictly true, but it fits the morose, melancholic,and melodramatic tone that I am trying to establish here better than the truth does). I work shift work three floors underground under perpetual light and I have never really “gotten?this world, and have always felt alienated, outside, alien. But I don’t want this journal to be that sort of a journal.There are too many “angst and anxiety?journals on the ‘net. .It is without false humility that I say that I am, at present, not good enough a writer to write about the trials and tribulations of my life without sinking into a sea of bathos. One day, maybe,but not now.

Tra la la this piece is done.

Somewhere in a far away galaxy there exists an unnamed and heretofore-undiscovered planet that is inhabited mainly by six breasted eight armed, three vagina-ed lesbians. I believe that you may well be interested in the story of how I came to be on that planet and what I did when I was there. So, let me take you back to a day that began like any other...