My Pills Ran Out

Since this is the first post of a self-published editorial column, I suppose the most common thing to begin with would be an explanation of the writer's motives.  Yesterday, when walking outside with my daughter, she commented that the sidewalk was very hot, and perhaps there was lava under it.  After thinking a moment, she added 'or maybe the devil lives right under our house.'  I said 'well.. that'd explain a lot.'

I think that's probably as good an explanation as anything, so I'll just go with that.  I should also clarify that she was intentionally trying to be both amusing and narratively adventurous.

I'm driven to write, but at the moment I'm afraid it's a little like driving in a strange city with no map.  And nobody along who's ever been there.  With people fighting in the backseat of the car.  And someone in the seat next to me reminding me about 8 different places I need to try to get to.  I'm tempted to stretch the metaphor even further and say that starting this column is somehow analogous to having one of those damned gps things, but I'm not convinced that would be anything more than a handy turn of phrase.  I think it's probably more accurate that I'm merely desirous of a podium to climb onto so I can scream to the cold dark about everything that pisses me off.  Ironically, I'm not sure I can bring myself to act that foolishly, regardless of how therapeutic it might prove.

Maybe I'll just piss'n'moan about video games.