Thud.

I am disappointed that I currently have nothing to say. No riffs, no snark, no recycled gossip. Nada.

No rants about inner pain or a squelched inner child or paper-thin worn aspirational dreams. Nothing.

There are a few complaints: the disgust with my body, misshapen as it is; the seemingly unshakeable fatigue. But no real details or new revelations to speak of.

How boring.

Zzzzz.