Surfing the myspace BLOG part one

Hello Sports fan,

Thanks to an illustrious um... Hopefully a minion. Yeah, you know who you are. Thanks man. Any who.... We started chatting about Myspace and blogging. You know at first I laughed at him for blogging on myspace. I ripped on him and then I realized, "Oh shit. I blogged on My Space."

Thus so inspired by this conversation, I decided to log into my much forgotten account. And post those ghastly Angst ridden blogs to you my hopefully future minions.

Okay, here goes:

Title: Procrastination

Current mood: angsty

            It's funny living again in the real world surrounded by the actuality of function. Sometimes, it is almost as if I am somewhere I never really thought about before. It's like noticing that there's a seven eleven down the street and the next thing you know you’re working at one. I have made it this weird goal to seriously work on my novel this summer but I find myself being distracted by the fresh air tendrils coaxing me out side. As the trains echo in the distance, I keep thinking about fresh air and the crisp essence of independence. Nothing but the road and me with the sound of my footsteps bouncing of the buildings like ping pong balls off of those green stretches of tables.

            I sit here looking at the moon through glass, like an old friend coaxing me out of my normal skin to begin some new adventure. Maybe that is how my novel should enter a new chapter, by moonlight. This thought now brings the poem "The highwayman" by Alfred Noyes  to my mind like an old friend in a Polaroid(don't worry I'll post the poem at the end of this blog cause I have nothing better to do).

            The poems makes me want to ride a horse down story street with cowboy boats twinkling in the moonlight, my hair gracefully swinging down my back with a purple ribbon holding it back from causing chaos in the rebellious winds. Or maybe I should ride to ledges listening to the TRUE sounds of the night instead twittering away worthless words that no one will read.

            Yet, I write them anyway. I try to write but  all I can seem to write over and over again is "Rose spent most of time working at her father’s shop" or  "her time at the shop was spent folding silk after silk after silk " or my personal favorite… "she worked at the family's shop". So story writing is defiantly not in my blood tonight but the night without a doubt is.

            So here I sit in front of a computer tossing different thoughts in my head still in my work clothing barely remember what I was thinking about the moment before. I had spent time trying to procrastinate by surfing my favorite sites and writing this blog. So I guess I'll talk to you later so I can find another way to procrastinate.