Okay. Once again, it’s down to the wire. The last day of the month and I have to crap out a blog. Why? Because creating a blog is what I told myself was a good idea ten months ago. But here’s the thing. The more the year has gone on, the further away I feel from the blog theme – being a failed comic. Not because I’ve gotten my shit together and am no longer that very thing..it’s just…well. I’m distracted. There’s other stuff going on. Like acting. I’ve done some acting. That’s fun. And also, it’s Summer and it’s hot and I can’t think when it’s sunny out. And I also work other quirky little jobs so that I can sustain this feeling and image of self as hobo cum artiste (read: non-commital professionphobe). Yes, I still live at home.

Anyway, if I were going to assemble some kind of trite assessment of the year so far, which I’m not (well, maybe not), I would say that all in all…..I’ve done some things. Some things have been done. Some things have been given consideration. Generally, there are things that are happening. And some that are not the things that they might one day become. Or not. I have no social life.

Think of these paragraphs as complete pieces unto themselves. Do not burden yourself with trying to find a through line from one to the other. It’s too much work, and August is not the month for discovering or creating cohesion between paragraphs. I’m out of ideas.

I’m out of ideas. Truly. It could be considered a sort of writer’s block. It’s more like a stubborn streak, though. I don’t want to write about the other open mic I attended this summer. I don’t want to blather on about my garbled labyrinthine writing process. Or how I went on and off the same free dating site for the tenth time. There’s sure a lot of “ethically non-monogamous” chaps out there at the moment. Anyway. Out of ideas.

A friend suggested I start making videos and posting them up. Maybe. I’m kind of exposure averse. Scary. But maybe. I know most attention spans are short and would appreciate a 15-second GIF of me doing unicorn faces more than a word-riddled post. I’ve got to rehearse. Baby steps.

Summers aren’t just about swimsuit season. Summers are strange zones. Dead zones. Still zones that can expose a great deal of what one’s actuality is actually made up of. I may, actually, not know what I just said. Summeritis.

The season will shift and the gears will crank up again. September is another energy. See you then.