Hurts so good

I'm going to let you in on a little secret about me: I love pain. I'm not talking about the strap-me-in leather-and-tie-me-up kind of pain*, but the kind that slowly chinks away at your ego. Yup, you got it: I play Scrabble. 98 letter tiles, 2 blanks, millions of combinations that somehow I can just never find. Limitless self-loathing.

My friend, Ed, keeps starting up Scrabble games with me on Facebook, and like a good little Bottom, I keep accepting. His first word usually tops 40 or so points. And I counter with something like "made" - 12 points [not actual score. I don't know if I mentioned I am also the foremost expert in creative scoring. See also, golf]. Currently, Ed and I are 4 words each into our latest game. And I'm about to reveal the humiliating truth: Ed, 110; me: 67.

Yesterday I logged back on to the game to put my word in. And as I moved the tiles to the board (IS, AM, JAM???), my hand suddenly released the mouse and my eyes moved to the table listing my and Ed's stats. Finally all the games, all the losses, the ranking that places me somewhere between a drooling parasite and Dubya. In response my hand goes back to the mouse, shaking I realize how Ed has systematically been destroying my very being. And I click PLAY WORD. 6 points. I stand poised and ready to be whipped again.

*Which reminds me of that time I treated my own cavity with a red-hot needle, but that's another story.

Writer's blargh

Writing is not hard. I mean, everybody does it - they have their blogs, tweets, Facebook updates. So why do I have to wrestle with words everytime I try to write anything. Case in point - I wrote that first sentence an hour ago. See? Once I start it's easy, but words and I have a very contentious relationship. For one, I don't like what I write. Ever. Well, I do at first. Start to think I'm the next Hemingway... until I go back and read it and think it's a steaming pile of overly ponderous poo.

You know, Words. We don't have to fight all the time. I will ease my stranglehold on you if you just try to relax a bit more. See, we CAN work together.

Now if we can both ease up, I can go on to my next point: Total avoidance. This is the third or fourth time I've checked up on my blog in the last several months. I've thought several times about adding a new post, then I (a) find something - anything - better to do or (b) is that a squirrel? And yet nothing has been updated. Turns out no one is going to write it for me. So what's the point of it? I'm starting to see how my job as an editor has turned me into a desconstructor of writing, not the creator. So now it's time to get creating again.

Thus I present my 2010 this-time-I-won't-be-a-slacker declaration of self-blogging: You'll see me again. Soon. Or later. But I'll be back.