I have a bad case of blog block. I am desperately trying to rejuvenate my writing soul and enchant the world of cyberspace with wit and charm and all things good, but cannot seem to get into the right place. It is almost as though the happier and more content I am, the less I want to write. Now, I could curl into a depressing fetal position and bang out some stories, but I fear this is not worthwhile, because I am not getting paid for my writing endeavors.

I will state that I've lost six pounds in two weeks and am going strong. Michael and I have been making wedding plans and things are going well in that department. My new job is also going exceedingly well; in fact, in the second month of employment, I got a bonus. More props to me, and yet another huge raspberry blown in the general direction of Probation.

Tonight, Michael and I are going to go ice skating. The last time I went ice skating, I was five years old. I was in daycare. A whole bunch of us wandering, neglected children were taken to a ice rink in Chicago. We were set free, like baby alligators struggling to survive. Many of the children took to the ice quite well, and began skating and singing and running into the rest of us poor saps born without grace or motor skills. I spent three hours walking around the rink, hanging on to the walls. It was terrible.

Michael is a hockey player. As he explains, his training in defense has allowed him to skate very proficiently--especially backwards. Thank goodness, because I will be latched onto him facing forward. I have to think about wardrobe...shall I tie a pillow to my tushy?

I'm hoping I'll accidentally run into one of those annoying figure skaters. Maybe one of my blades will hit a main artery? There's always hope. I'll keep you posted.

Sigh. It just doesn't feel the same anymore, this blogging.

Double sigh.