This morning, one of my old friends (and few loyal blog followers) sternly reminded me that I have been irresponsibly neglecting my blogging duties. She was probably wondering if I had found myself a love life or something. I’m not the type who gets distracted from my on-line life, which, in my dismal, anonymous, and bored existence happens to be the only semblance of life that I have. Not even a toxic 24-hour duty could keep me from a 2-hour-a-day RDA of on-line time, staring at empty space, crunching on keyboards, ruminating about nothing particularly important.
Because of this gentle admonition, I decided to squeeze my brain for anything worth writing about, which basically boils down to nothing. Nothing. I wring and I mangle and I squeeze some more. Still, there’s nothing.
Hence, this post.
Because I mentioned it above, I could not help but discuss one of my life’s most circumvented existential questions: So, Jean, since you’ve been absent from blogging and even your Facebook is relatively quiet these days, does this mean that you’re already having the time of your life romping around and getting laid? So, how’s the state of your love life?
Nah. WTF! Let’s not proceed to that issue. This is El Nino time and I’m as dry as the Sahara desert. And since I am a doctor and I subscribe to medical facts, I have to say that my ovaries, uterus, and cervix are currently in a pathetic state of atrophy. Atrophy from disuse, such that they have already undergone spontaneous degeneration and apoptosis. And my myocardium? It’s a festering, moldy, hopeless piece of trashy tissue not even the dogs would have it for dinner.
Not that it’s any different from two years ago when I stared blogging. The state of my love life is still the same. I am now just more aware of its wretchedness.
Next blog entry please…