A new word

Agrred: to be in agreement over something that angers both parties.

Question

So what would happen if I just wrote & it wasn't any good & would the world end & would the sun explode or would I explode in a hailstorm of shattered ice, my heart as cold as, my soul as bleak as, my past as fragile as?

What would happen if I asked for an opinion & they said stop using ampersands, it's pretentious, you can't pull it off and it's fine for a start and why don't you keep getting on that bicycle and peddling down that road right down the middle?

What would happen if I'm just nobody but me and that me isn't good enough for who I've wanted to be but yet you still love me still why can't I rise to the call, rise to the top, rise and shine?

Paralyzed by self-doubt and low self esteem!

So much promise come to naught.

Or so I've been told.

Happy Birthday Sir Paul and Roger Ebert!

Did y'know that both Paul McCartney and Roger Ebert were born on exactly the same day 64 years ago? Cosmic! Two thumbs up!*

*I have to admit I've despised post-Siskel Ebert who has become free and easy with his thumbs, raising them for every movie that remotely catches his fancy. For shame, Roger, for shame!

Been a long time

I suppose it has since I posted last but my archive is full of unfinished and aborted posts (would I lie to you?) It may not seem that way but I have always been a hair-pulling, lip-biting paralyzed perfectionist when it comes to writing. When I was in school, the only way I could force myself to finish papers was to wait until the last minute when editing was virtually impossible... ah those heady days of feverishly plock-plock-plocking (typing has never been my strong suite, stymied by qwerty and lack of coordination and motivation) until 10:45 for a 11:00 o'clock class, then parking illegally in order to squeak in under the wire, tossing my elegantly stapled masterpiece onto the Pile of Judgement. I was a nervous wreck but there was something almost orgasmic about cutting it so close. And always getting As. I mean, what was the point of starting earlier if I was going to get an A anyway? Maybe I was missing out on some incredible foreplay for years: I could have indulged in some languid typewriter strokes instead of the feverish pounding... Huh.