I should be flogged. Drawn and quartered. Banned from the Internet.
I am a bad blogger.
I don't have much of an excuse. I'm churning out three posts a week for work, which is kind of draining. And I had a sprained wrist and then a cold. And I went out of town. And blah blah blah. Like I said, I have no real excuse. I'm a stinker. That's all there is to it.
And even now, I have nothing to say. I saw some bad movies (you probably don't need to hear about that), I painted my bedroom (more appropriate fodder for the Chic blog), I watched some Weeds (but blogging about television feels derivative).
Even the trolls have been quiet of late (I'm looking at you, Helen).
Nothing. I've got nothing.
For the purposes of including a few photos and giving you something to look at, I'll tell you this much:
I keep having a weird, recurring anxiety dream about Vancouver. In it, I'm in the city, with nowhere to stay. And night is falling. And I have no money. Or I can't find a hotel. And I can't think of anyone to call because none of my Vancouver friends are my friends anymore.
No points for guessing what that's about. Too obvious.
She named it "New Bob."