This always throws me. About me when? Now, later, yesterday, two minutes from now? Every time I sit down to put myself to words and add a little substance to this page I feel like I'm filling out my college dorm application all over again and praying I don't get stuck with a completely impossible roommate, which ended up happening anyway. And don't even get me started on getting hung up on insisting I write something really witty and cerebral--it just ain't happening right now--my muse is playing a game of hide and seek with me, has buried herself in some deep dark place and damn if I can't find her. Sneaky bitch.To be continued...
