Bloggers block

For the past few millenia I seem to have had trouble finding things to write about that will both entertain and be interesting. I’ve sat at my computer with the dashboard open to write a new blog post and….nothing. Upon talking to my dear husband we have decided that I do indeed have a problem. NO… Not THAT problem, well maybe. But no, we have decided that I have ‘Bloggers Block’.

I try to write about my day to day life in a lighthearted way that either makes you laugh or think that I am crazy, or maybe a little of both. But end up making a gazillion drafts of things that piss me off instead. Yanno, like the nipple nazi’s or the sky fairy, that never quite make it to the publish button because, well…. it’s no fun.

The older I get the more things seem to piss me off and I’m beginning to feel a bit like a female version of  Victor Meldrew. Although to be honest I find him absolutely hillarious. I also feel like I’m regressing. When I was a snotty nosed teenager in 6th form doing my A’levels, I was nominated (and won – would you believe?) an award at our 6th form trivial persuit night. The award? Well, it was for “Most stressed and depressed student”  Hmmm. And yes, I recieved an award, a paper mache award of a sunshine on a stick. Me thinks that may have been slightly acrimonious. (Ya think?). So I would blow a fuse at the slightest thing, which for a long time I blamed on my fathers quick temper, but now realise that it was just me not taking shit from anyone. Maybe I recieved that gene from my father, maybe not. And in any case it’s not a bad trait to have. Unless you are on the wrong side of me. But I believed, and still believe, that if you don’t piss me off, you won’t see that side of me.

I think I must have mellowed out over the years, things didn’t piss me off as much as they used to and I could laugh at people stupidity instead of getting angry with them. And then I had kids of my own. Since having the kids I have developed a new kind of pissed offness. The kind that makes you want to commit a crime serious enough to be jailed or at very least commited. The ‘experts’  that tell you your child should be seen and not heard, the ‘helpers’ that tell you what you should feed your little angels and the ‘shoppers’ that give you disgruntled looks when you walk away from a child having a temper tantrum on the aisle floor because you wouldn’t buy them the toy that would make their life worth living again. The ‘crunchies’ that would have you thinking disposable nappies are made from barbed wire, and formula is nothing more than white arsenic or paint stripper. And heaven forbid should you do something as shocking as give your child a carrot that isn’t organic or let them pick a crisp off the living room floor and eat it.

One thing I have learned, and try to do in a diplomatic way, which more often than not fails, is to speak my mind. If I am not happy about something I will speak up, and if I don’t understand something I will question it. This obviously means I am a bad person who deserves to rot, or at least have little stalkers following me around waiting to pounce at any given time, pointing out my faults. Well I thank you kindly, but your advice is neither wanted, needed or appreciated.

And so I have now named mysef Victoria Meldrew and I am  a Bitch. Thanking you kindly.

Due to the aforementioned pissiness I have found it difficult to find my blogging creativity. Oh wait… Well shit, I DID IT!!