Day 18: No Contest

Were I to submit a blog post to the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, where wretched writers are welcome, perhaps it would read something like this:

It was a dark and stormy night, following what had been a dark and stormy day during which little has been accomplished; not much has been done. She's had a nameless tune stuck in her head all day and it's making her crazy, crazy like a bull in a china shop although why anyone would bring a bull into a china shop is a question worthy (or perhaps not) of consideration at some other time than the present because she’s too tired. The kitchen sink is filled with dirty dishes, dishes that should have been washed during the day when she wasn’t doing much, but all she wants to do is climb into her unmade bed; the bed was made yesterday, though, so it’s not so bad, and only her husband slept in it last night because she was in the city having fun with her girlfriends, hence the lazy day today, so the sheets aren’t too messy since only one person slept in them. Problem is, she has to write her blog, the one that she has been writing now since August 3rd without a break although, truth be told, some of the entries are much better than others but I guess that’s to be expected since not everyone can be on all the time now can they, and despite the fact that she's been waiting all day for inspiration to strike, it’s pretty clear that that hasn’t happened and it’s getting late and she’s got to get this posted before midnight and like I said all she wants to do is go to sleep and wake up to a bright, bright sunshiny day. She doesn't have many opportunities left (seventeen to be exact... oh wait! that’s the number of syllables in haiku, and her daughter H pointed out to her that she messed up on a few of them way back on Day 36 so I had better prove that I know how to write one now: She’s getting older/Is she getting wiser too?/Only her hairdresser knows for sure -- well, I guess she can’t write haiku after all) to share all she's learned and experienced and witnessed and forgotten about these last fifty years and to hypothesize about where it all will take her, let’s hope she remembers to bring her reading glasses, but tonight just doesn't feel like the night when she has to figure it out. She's been trying to do that for a long time now, and hopefully she has a long time remaining in which to continue to try to figure it out because it’s not going so well so far. Maybe she'll come up with some answers along the way; I really hope more than anything that she can figure out the name of the song because I really like it and I'm almost positive that she does, too, because she heard it in the bar yesterday with her friends, the bar where one drink was something like $15 and K didn't even drink hers because it tasted like whiskey instead of tequila, and the minute she heard it playing she said, "Oh, I love this song!" but she couldn't remember any of the words or who sings it and now she can't google even one word of the lyrics which might help. In the meantime, she has decided that it's okay to go to bed even if the dishes aren't done. That's a start.