So I've been toying with the idea of quitting this blogging thing.

I have this urge to quit, every now and then. This feeling of futility about what I'm doing here. I usually get over it quickly enough, and I'll probably get over it again.

I've been blogging for almost exactly four years now. It's been a lot of fun, most of the time. It's been very therapeutic, a lot of the time. But I've been wondering, a lot lately, if maybe I've run out of things to say here.

See, I have no grief. None. And this is a problem because the only things I've ever written that were worth a shit were those things that either dealt with grief, or were at least written with grief in the background. As context.

And now? There's no grief. There's joy.

And you know what joy is?

Fucking boring, that's what it is.

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I thought of the funniest thing today. I emailed it to RockGirl, and that's as far as it went. I certainly can't write about it here, because the target of my humor reads this fucking blog. And she, if she were to read my funny thought, she would think that it was cruel. And she'd be right. It is a cruel thought. But it's still funny.

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This whole happiness thing - it's new to me. I don't know how to write about it. I probably could write about it, if I had sufficient motivation, but I don't.

I think that, I think that being sad is what made me write. And I think that being happy is having the opposite effect. Urging me to stop. Before I fuck up a good thing.

It's happened before, after all.