Que?

(That does mean why, right, in addition to what?)

Why is this blog so boring? Why can I never seem to find time or energy or inclination to post anything on it? It's Memorial Day weekend, there are so many things I could blog about, and patriotism and America and the military are among my favorites subjects, yet I sit and read or (worse) play minesweeper.

This is sad. I should do something about it. It just seems that blogging is the sort of thing you have to be interested in. Jalsevac says that's not true. Writing is something you have to force yourself to do sometimes, something that you have to discipline yourself to do, even on the days ("especially on the days") when you don't feel like it. Whatever. I don't feel like blogging.

So I'm not going to blog. I'm going to go back upstairs, curl up with the cat, and read more of my book about a priest in Russia. Then, later, I'm going to leave with me mum to play for a wedding of two people I don't know from Adam's Housecat (thank you, Addy, for a great new expression to use). The rehearsal last night was a trip, to be sure. As usual, the bride's family (including but not limited to the bride) is not Catholic and has no idea of decorum within the Church. Also as usual, no one has any idea what the primary function of clothing is--to clothe--and instead run around in brightly-colored items which apear to be beach towels, with pencils or something strapped to their heels by numerous thin strings. These, I'm told, are called sandals. They look like something from Communist Russia's torture chambers to me. Or maybe a back brace for a paralytic ferret.

Anyway, the rehearsal was nice, and mom and I have our fingers crossed that the dresses used in the actual ceremony this afternoon (it's a Mass, and we can't decide if that makes it better or worse. I guess it makes it better) aren't overly deficient in things like fabric. I tell you what, though. If some of the women wanted to sit in the choir loft and get our view of the wedding party as it mills around right below us, they'd think twice about wearing their tube top.

That was probably uncharitable of me to say. Oh well. It serves her right. It just seems to me that women who parade and complain about equality and 'equal intelligence gets equal rights' should try and exhibit a little intelligence before they get their 'rights' (whatever that means).

Dang. This is why I hate writing. This post was great, up until the paralytic ferret. However, I can't seem to be able to end it, and the quality and coherence are rapidly dwindling into non-being. Why does this happen to me?? The post shoudl have ended just over a paragraph ago, yet I'm still sitting here. It's very frustrating to never be able to rise above the level of semi-garbage. (I'm going to get an email from Ambrose, I'llbetcha, in approximately 23.6 seconds, informing me that I should never be self-deprecating like that when it clearly isn't true. You watch.) But that's where I'm stuck. Using too many parentheses and probably mispelling tons of stuff up through there because mom put a different (wierd) keyboard no the computer which has all the buttons in the wrong place, and being to lazy to go back and proofread.