While I'm Waiting for Divine Inspiration

I know it's a bit embarrassing to run into problems in only my second week after announcing my new commitment to writing, but there is a battle going on for my soul. Antagonistic forces abound, and they will not stand down just because I've made a foolhardy declaration of my purpose. The path of the righteous man, as we all know, is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Imagine, then, what the path looks like for a lazy heel like me! Between TV, online poker, a girlfriend (albeit a low-maintenance one), a ska band and that most dreaded distraction of them all, a low-paying, unfulfilling job, I’m finding it hard to bog down. On top of that, my memory has gone to the dogs, and whatever decent ideas I get usually evaporate like urine on a bonfire before can write them down.

I know: Boohoo! The boulevard to Hades is lined with lousy excuses. That is why I must do the only thing I can do at this point, sad though it is, which is to write about my inability to write. Over the next couple of weeks, I shall go into details about the many treacherous pitfalls I face as I try to find some foothold in the world of words.

To imbue this measly excuse for a blog entry with a semblance of entertainment value, I will offer you an anecdote. It is short and devoid of meaning and moral, but I find it amusing, and I hope you will too – at least just enough so that no officious, nazi reader of mine comes banging down my virtual door with indignant claims that I have reneged on my oath. Here goes.

Some years ago, a peripheral acquaintance of mine was running contraband vodka from Poland to Denmark when his van got pulled over on the wrong side of the border. The cop asked him what he was carrying, to which he calmly replied, “Oh, just Xerox paper.”
Not quite convinced, the cop asked, “Do you mind if I take a look?”
“Not at all,” my peripheral acquaintance, whom I in no way endorse, answered with a smile.
He then got out, walked around and opened the doors to the back of the van.
“That doesn’t look like Xerox paper to me,” said the cop.
The smuggler then took a look inside, shook his head and, still smiling, said with mild annoyance, “Shoot! They did it again.”

Take from that story what you will, but know that I will try harder next week.