Lost For Words

Why is it that when I need it the most, my brain deserts me like…um…something deserting something else? Having just declared my intention to ease up on the blogging in favour of more income-oriented writing, I find that I have nothing to write that isn’t even marginally better than the last few pages of stodgy rubbish I’ve already wasted valuable kilowatts of power typing. Moreover, I now have an ad hoc project of arguably greater import which is receiving still less cerebral support – a eulogy.

Anyone who wasn’t discouraged from reading Friday’s entire post as its façade of selfless concern fell away to reveal the nauseating bombast beneath, will know my grandmother was gravely ill. She died on Saturday. I am comforted by my belief Nanna has gone to that euphemistic ‘better place’, where her mind is sound again and she is free of the encumbrance of a failing body. I am also acutely aware that only a shitty granddaughter would be at a loss to come up with just a few sentences of fond remembrance for a woman who loved her.

Ugh! I’m going to bed before I descend once more into pseudo-pious self-flagellation. I’m sure after a good night’s sleep I’ll be refreshed and better able to do what a writer of my calibre does best: plagiarise from my sisters.