A post about nothing.

Once upon a time there was Seinfeld, the show about nothing. Today there is this: a post about nothing, because it’s my blog and I’ll post if I want to, even if I have nothing to say that could even be remotely construed as interesting – so there.

A new month. Again. Already. Time flies (clichés have become clichés for a reason you know) and it’s beautiful in Montreal today, blue blue skies (that deep autumn blue), cool and crisp, with that green, slightly decaying, smell you get in the late fall. Green on the way to dead. Or something.

So, November and we’re that much closer to winter. Is there any way I can actually describe my loathing of winter without this post eventually needing a may-not-be-suitable-for-all-viewers disclaimer? Nope. No way. None at all, so I’ll just shush about that particular topic.

I’m feeling sort of bleh today, but I decided a long time ago that this blog was not the place to roll out and display all my états-d’âme** (because a- it's way outside my comfort zone and b- it's not really interesting at all - I'm no Virgina Woolfe or Sylvia Plath) so I’m not going to do it today. I think y'all pretty much have enough of your own états-d’âme without others throwing theirs in your face. Unless of course you’re a shrink, in which case it’s your job to have crap thrown at you and you are well and highly paid for it so I have no sympathy for you whatsoever.
Talk about an entry going nowhere! Fast. I don’t know why I’m even bothering, except that I feel like writing something. I just didn’t expect it to be quite this horrifically bad. It’s just zipping along the highway towards the proverbial cliff which it will no doubt shortly meet the bottom of (à la Wile E. Coyote) with a decisive…

SPLAT.

**What’s the word in English? Mood is just about it, but the nuance is not quite there; literally it means the state of one’s soul – ain’t that a pretty term