So, last night, lying on my couch drifting to sleep, I came to a most important conclusion: I am not a writer. In the midst of planning out the new StandardChuck, a new shiny blog filled with ample content that would repeat weekly like "Me Mondays" or "Science Fridays" (sorry for the potential plagerization, Ira Flatow), I began to realize something that caused alarm...just thinking about writing something consistantly, week after week, month after month, filled me with malaise...I was dreading the writing even before I had started the first one! There's laziness and then there is bone-lazy, sad-sacked, molasses thick, rim-rattling idleness.
Here's my new maxim: I will write when I write and never shall I be known as a goodish-like writer, and what-not.
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