I was signing up for a bloggers party last week. When the organizer asked me for the URL to my blog, I got nervous. I thought — Will he decline my entry into the guest list when he sees I haven’t written anything in almost a month? Thankfully, that kind of exclusivity wasn’t part of the event.
I attended the party, which turned out to be hosted by Playboy Philippines (!), took shots — pictures and alcohol, ogled the “chicks” like one of the guys, got a bottle of tequila for pimping myself, and took home a copy of Playboy magazine. There was no doubt that I enjoyed the night… Even though I ended the night feeling a little more male than female. It was a little worrisome, what with the whole questioning-my-actual-gender issue, but really, not a bad night at all.
I went home thinking that I don’t want to ever have to second-guess myself again. Not about my gender! I mean, my blogging skillz. I want to be able to tell someone I’m a writer and a blogger without having to follow that statement with a “but.”
I may not blog as much as I used to or as much as I want to, but the words are in my head. The problem is, they seem to be hell bent on staying there.
My life lately has been a whirlwind of everything. I’ve gone emo, I’ve gone rock and roll, hell, I’ve even gone a bit pop and R&B. Everything everyday was an anecdote in the making. It’s not for lack of material I can’t write, it’s for lack of… concentration. And fuckin’ inspiration.
I hate it when people write about writing. But here, that’s what I’m doing right now, in lieu of a legal contract. I’m putting it in black and white, folks — I will get back to regular blogging soon.
One day, very soon, I say, I will welcome inspiration. And if it doesn’t come naturally, I will take it by the balls and drag it, screaming and flailing, and squeeze it back into my pen and paper.
Also, that bunny in the red suit was cute.