Microwave Dinners

I don't know what's up with me lately. I'm just kinda ..not there. I mean, I'm going to work, I'm hanging out with friends, I had dinner with my dad earlier this week -- and I've enjoyed and appreciated all of those moments; but then when I come back to my apartment it's like I'm finding myself still really craving inspiration, still needing some sort of personal spark that for whatever reason I can't seem to find.
Dinner is nuked. Dishes are stacked. TV is watched. Couches are slept on.
I mean, I had a great weekend with my kid. I had this whole rant about Valentines Day worked out in my head. For gods sake, last night at Endo there were a bunch of ratty college kids in African-flag-colored knit hats struggling to create their own god-awful acoustic versions of Bob Marley songs, complete with forced Jamaican accents -- the table couldn't be more set for me to put pen to paper.

But when I open up Blogger to write it all down it's like the engine won't turn over. I mean, there's the usual pressure at work and drama at home -- but nothing really to the point (I don't think) where I can't hear some white kid butcher the hell out of "Redemption Song" and not get all revved up over the prospect of laying waste to his lame ass.
But for whatever reason, the words aren't happening.
It's like there's a shadow on the floor crossing over mine. Something I can't see. Something I've gotta figure out.
..And all these heart-shaped Mylar balloons and rose bouquets showing
up at the office every five minutes aren't really helping things either.

[Listening to:  Fugazi"Birthday Pony" ]