The worst time to blog

I just returned from the grocery store, where–if the royal They is correct–the worst time to go is when you’re hungry. As it happened, I was getting a bit peckish and found myself loading the cart with cheese doodles, ranch dressing, and fatback. I had to occupy my mind in a better way, so as I put back the other products in favor of balsamic, panko and cutlets, I started thinking about the worst time to blog. Like when…

The only way you can comfort yourself is knowing the people whose only form of creativity and production is the aggregation and dissemination of other people’s creativity and production will someday have to spend their riches to defend themselves against the undead uprising because nobody else is going to protect them from something that wants to eat their amoral brains…

When you have become so disinterested in your own goals and aspirations that you actually start to think the people you’re hoping to feed to the zombies might actually be right about a life of aggregation and dissemination…

When you turn off everything in your head that might actually be something resembling creativity and instead run to your blog to post a link to something you find interesting, forgetting that, duh, that’s what Twitter is for…

When half of what comes out of your mouth starts to sound like a Lloyd Dobler monologue…

When you want to talk about that weird dream you had where you joined the Andy Bloch fan club and Jen Creason personally did your big toe piercing…

When you start typing things in the style of the Bloggess and saying people were ‘all X’ and ‘like Y…’

When you have a list of things that are barely connected, too long for Twitter, but not long enough for their own blog post.