A million stories in the naked city, and I could not think of one thing to write about today, which happens to be Day 4 of the 40 Days of Writing challenge.
My problem, you see, is that I've been blogging on a fairly regular basis since The Home Stretch first appeared in cyber space on July 15, 2006. I've bared just about every facet of my tortured midlife soul that there is to bare, waxing philosophical on every topic known to womankind from how to start a neighborhood Kegels and Bagels support group to the most painless way to pluck those menacing menopausal mutant ninja chin hairs that rival the coarsest broom bristles.
I've analyzed my childhood, my adolescence, my makeup drawer, and my obsession with the 70s rock group, The Moody Blues. I've ranted, raved, laughed, cried, bitched, bemoaned, celebrated, mourned and reminisced.
So there I sat, dog tired after staying up all night birthing Day 3's 40 Days of Writing entry, a blank brain AND a blank computer screen.
What was I to do? Clearly, no matter how exhausted I felt, not writing was not an option.
Anyway, I was walking back to my computer, feeling dejected, when, in my sleep deprived state, I tripped over my rather large, black handbag.
"Damn purse!" I muttered.
Almost instantaneously, for reasons I cannot explain, hearing myself say "purse" triggered memories of the old TV game show, Let's Make A Deal, which I watched without fail when I was a kid.
I recalled how fascinated I always was by how much random crap those whacky-costumed female contestants had crammed inside their purses so that when show host Monty Hall said, "I'll give you $50 for a broken clothespin", by golly, they could produce a broken clothespin.
And that's when it hit me. I've got scads of random crap stashed in my purse! I'll just pull something out of my purse, and whatever it is, I will write about it!
So I excitedly unzipped my purse, reached in, and guess what I pulled out?
Be sure to tune in tomorrow, Day 5 of the 40 Days of Writing challenge, to find out!