I’m not sure how much longer I can keep up this pace.
No, I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about blogging. So if you saw the title of this post and that’s the only reason you’re here, you can leave now.
I write and post at least three or four times a day. Sometimes five or six times.
I love writing, exercising my imagination and creativity. I love keeping the synapses firing in this old brain of mine.
I love it when people read, like, and respond to my posts. It’s addictive, like a narcotic, a rush, a shot of adrenaline.
I love responding to prompts, including my own.
But there are just so many writing prompts these days. Stream of consciousness prompts, one-liner prompts, word prompts, story prompts, photo prompts.
So many that it makes my stomach and intestines start to grumble and rumble as I try to figure out how to use the word borborygmus in a post.
And then there is the treasure trove of topics for political and social commentary in the land of Trumpistan. Trump provides us with a once in the lifetime (I hope) opportunity for bloggers.
But maybe it’s just too much. Maybe I should harken back to the days when I just sat around serenely reading the newspaper, reading books written by others, and watching inane TV shows.
No, I cannot. I need blogging to release those endorphins. Blogging is better than sex.
Okay, maybe not. But it’s a close second.
Written for Fandango’s One-Word Challenge, “pace.” And for the Word of the Day Challenge (serenely) and for the Ragtag Daily Prompt (borborygmus).