(Before we start, you can read January’s (and all past issues) of ARTS Magazine by clicking here. I have an article in there every month so you know they are only accepting the highest of quality! Now, onward!)
My hiatus is over, for real this time. I know, Dear Reader, I’m a flake. But, here and now, I shout my commitment to the void.
I will make this blog a success!
Given I’m able to afford the cost of renewal in 45ish days. That’s right. We are fast approaching the one year anniversary of this magnificently… insignificant… blog. But hey, its insignificance is my fault. This poor (likely dead due to starvation) baby has been neglected for the past 9ish months.
No more! I will use all of my necromantic know-how to raise it from death. I will then use all of my superior parenting skills to raise it into a blog I can be proud of (even if it won’t pay rent or move out).
My promise to you, I will bring you regular blog posts of superb quality (failing that, most likely they will make you laugh and failing that, you have no sense of humor). Blog posts that will engage you and call back the next day. And their content? More than constant excuses as to why I’m not blogging. No more blogging about not blogging! You have my word as a 12th level paladin.
And why do I give you my word? Because it’s a new quiznaking year! (Altean for fucking, in case you didn’t quiznaking know.) New year means new you and new you means new me and… I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.
Granted, this year isn’t as new as it should have been at the time of this posting. What I mean to say, this grandiose and drug-fueled promise is two weeks late. But not two weeks too late because you forgive me. You always do because you’re a fool, a bloody fool, and I love you for that. I love you for overlooking my faults time after time.
So, new year. I wrote a blog post already, didn’t upload it, misplaced it, cried. Excellent start to my resolution for better organization. But by dog, I will be organized!
*Asher leaves you to organize his workspace*
YES! I found it! I’ll just add it to this post. Let you have a two’fer. Now, join me on a journey into the distant past, two weeks ago. I present to you…
Not Enough Time in a Lifetime
Let alone a day.
This hasn’t been a productive new year. (And a procrastinated Happy New Year to you, Dear Reader!)
It was my desire that my writing (and general) productivity would increase at the very second the ball dropped. Instead, I’ve produced—
*returns after fifteen minute talk with Mother*
Naturally, the second I buckle down and get to writing something, I’m derailed by something or other. (The house phone ringing. Do you believe that? Who here even knows what a house phone is? Raise your hand.) At least it wasn’t a scam attempting to sell me a medical grade brace again (though the conversation would have been much shorter).
So, I’ve produced nothing this year but this mess you’re reading now. Everyone has excuses. These are mine.
A sick wife.
The wife spent a week off work and we treated her illness like a vacation. Rather than me getting off my assets and writing or cleaning, we binged Breaking Bad. (My fourth time, her first.) Today, (this was written on the ninth I believe) was spent in a crowded dentist’s office.
But no big deal. The kids like the dentist. The boy gets all jazzed about getting to drink water (we don’t often allow him to drink) from the spray dealy (the tooth cleany thingy) and the girl finds a little old Hispanic lady to bury beneath all of the toys from the waiting room toy box. Walking back and forth across the room, one toy at a time.
And then their is a todo list a million miles long.
So daunting of a list that taking a break before even starting becomes infinitely more appealing. It feels like being buried alive (but not beneath toys). The only way out is to start digging…
(Oh. There’s a joke here but… I can’t for the life of me read my handwriting… Oh well. Sorry, folks.)
But we’re only a few days in. This new year has not yet forsaken us. It’s not too late! A couple of weeks, that’s when it would be too late. If I’d failed at being productive by the time the 14th rolled around, I’d say “screw it” and scrap the year. I’ll be productive in 2020. But we’ve not yet reached that point of no return! (Oh dear… I’m quite late in posting this. The 21st…)
We will be productive! (Starting now, on the 21st.) And I am not a complete failure. I’ve kept to a workout routine, so… in your face. Before you say, “No big deal,” I say, “My exercising started well before the new year so, again, in your face.”
I’ll be the swolest writer around. I won’t have written anything, but who cares? I can’t hear the haters over my muscles (They are engulfing my head. I truly can’t hear. Can’t… breathe. Can’t see. Run! Run from fitness! It’s a trap!)
But don’t run too fast or you’ll get fit anyways. As that was a flashback, you know I’ve survived. That, or I’ve replaced the real Edmund Asher.
Either way, I am now someone you can trust. Someone changed by his near death experience. Someone now dedicated to being a better man, a man of his word.
Or a completely different person who burnt the body of old Asher (Asher to Ashes) and ground the teeth to powder so they’d never get a dental match on him.
In either case, rejoice! For the old me is dead. But fear, for I have a way of not letting death stand in my way… (such as, this entire blog is career suicide. And yet? Here I am.)
Yeah. The old me would hope you found the memes excruciatingly painful. But the new me weeps for you. Weeps, yet knows he will never stop. He cannot stop. It is not within his power to do so.
But expect another post Wednesday. About what? I don’t know. I’ve got like thirty posts partway written. Might have more substance than this post. Might won’t. Probably won’t.
Also, I’m tired of waiting to be successful before doing things. It has proven to be nothing more than an excuse to not get things done. So I’m opening a Patreon account where you people can give me your hard earned cash in exchange for such pleasures as reading my garbage manuscripts. Expect that in the future (near or far… okay, we’ll opt for near).
Read ARTS Magazine! And be sure to drink your Ovaltine.