I was and wasn’t going to write a post again today, and by “again”, I mean two weeks of again’s. Instead I’ve been reading other blogs, mostly about music and musicians because it’s what I am mostly interested in lately, which may explain some of the agains, but I’m not really certain. I do know I owe my comeback to this blogger who thinks instead of writes but writes it down, too, so I decided it was the least I could do. So here goes:  (And thanks to David at Pitchforkreviewsreviews.com.)

I don’t really consider myself a writer. Well, sort of a writer, but not really, is what I hear myself say often, and then regret saying it, of course, because I know that I’m really asking someone to say, well of course you are a writer because you write this blog every day - well almost every day, I reply and then they are supposed to say, well, that means you are a writer. And then the truth stares at me because I mean to write everyday but sometimes a few days go by, or, like in this case, a couple weeks and each day I mean to write and I don’t, I know there is no excuse except that I’m not a writer, so how could I be expected to find something interesting to write about everyday. And then I remember that there is something interesting to write about everyday, I’m just not writing about it. And then I think, if I were a writer, I could claim writer’s block but I don’t because I’m not, so that disqualifies me from having writer’s block — which would be really cool to say, if it were true.

Actually, I have so much to write about that sometimes it just gets too messy, like a baby drooling and that’s when I usually hand the baby back to it’s rightful owner because drool is kind of hard to look at.