Nothing

Bob Dylan--"Beyond Here Lies Nothing" (mp3)
Beck--"Ballad Of Big Nothing" (mp3)

I suppose it had to happen eventually. Perhaps it has even already happened and I didn't know it. But today, with all certainty, I am here to tell you: I got nuthin'.

I've been pondering this situation for a few hours, doing various self-checks and other analyses, trying to determine if I even had the slightest bit of something. But, no, it's conclusive. I got nuthin'.

Save yourself the time of coming over here to see what I've got, because I guaran-damn-tee you the answer will be the same: nuthin'.

Maybe it's:

--getting over being sick

--the new Maxwell House coffee machines

--coming back from Spring Break

--having to start cutting grass

--rediscovering stress

--financial woes

--looming responsibilities at work

--an existential angst

--the short life of every Ipod I've owned

--the prospect of a pre-sliced ham for Easter

--an awareness of my own mortality

--being in between books

--the pistachio scare

I really don't know.

Regardless of which circumstance or combination of circumstances are involved, the outcome remains the same. Today, Friday, April 3rd, 2009, I simply do not have one damn thing.

And, let me be very, very clear: it isn't like I used to have something, started the day with it, but for some reason gave it away. No, I never had it to begin with.

Maybe it's a night last night of hobnobbing with world-famous authors, realizing I'm not one of them, not really knowing how to cold-talk to them, bailing early, going to Magoo's, drinking a few beers and eating a Chic-o-Philly sandwich, and then having to carry in a 2-ton piece of exercise equipment in from the pouring rain.

On second thought, all of this could be fallout from my dismal performance on the National Mythology Exam.

If I were a car, there would not be a fucking thing in my tank. I would be sitting in the driveway. Birds would drop that whitish, purplish stuff on me with impugnity.

If I were a beer can, I would be empty of even the last bit of sour brew, crushed, and rattling around in the back of somebody's truck.

If I were a television, I would be that crackling, staticky, fuzzy stuff that you wake up to after the station's gone off the air.

If I were a rock, I would probably be content. So forget that one. It really doesn't fit.

If I were a blog post, I would have filled a decent bit of space with a whole bunch of words that, all told, didn't mean a thing.

Dylan and Beck's songs were borrowed from other blogs that had something going on today.