Don't Call It A Comeback (no seriously, you shouldn't call it a comeback)

Writing a blog post is a lot like sex. The longer you wait between entries, the more difficult each attempt becomes, until you're sitting in the shower, crying, wearing nothing but a sock to hide your flaccid shame.

Or, I guess writing a blog post is a lot like writing a blog post. It's not easy if you all you feel like writing are terrible, terrible metaphors.

Back in the oughts (or the "naughty oughties" as I called them), I would post with the regularity that would make you think I was eating nothing but brain fiber topped with imagination flax seeds. Yes, my brain would poop with regularity. I pine for the halcyon days of brain poopery and all the wonder and magnificence that would entail.  There was even a point when I had regular readers who regularly commented. With regularity!

Alas, much like my salad days of yore (those days when I ate nothing but salads at Yore: the dyslexic's pronoun restaurant and eatery), my blog posts have become seldom, like I was eating nothing but brain wheat.

The Writer stopped writing. "I should probably discontinue the use of metaphors when describing creativity," he opined. "Frank Zappa was a genius and I really need to stop shitting out crap-filled metaphors".

The Writer smiled at himself. "Yeah, you're going to stop those prose comparisons, but will you ever stop the real life comparisons to geniuses and/or people who have just simply worked harder than you?". Then the smile kind of turned into a grin, which swiftly morphed into a blank expression, and then finally graduated to a frown. It was a slow process, but then sometimes realizations take a bit to settle in.

"You need to write more", he said to himself. "You also need to learn the correct usage of commas inside quotation marks," he continued. He had never mastered the art of grammar. He had never wanted to, really. After all, what use is it, to have proper comma use, if that use is to separate, words that were meaningless, to begin with?

Soon enough, he thought, writing will evolve into nothing more than a series of abbreviations (or abbv). and graphic characters :). The language we speak now will look to future generations like Old English looks to us. "Who were these weirdos who spoke in words longer than three characters? Yuck! So boring!".

The Writer sighed.

What's the point in writing if no one knows how to read?
What's the point in reading if no one knows how to write?

It was at that existential crossroads when The Writer decided it was time to stop writing that particular blog post: slightly disappointed at the quality of the work, but with a newfound hunger for future entires. Sure, there may be no regular readers left, but maybe the point of writing is to write. Maybe the point of reading is to read. Nothing existential, nothing profound. Maybe you just do something for the sake of doing it, and you worry about the grander consequences later.

At that moment, The Writer knew he needed to end the post with something appropriate. Something that future generations could look back and actually understand. Something that readers would read and say "hey, that wasn't a totally useless ending".

The Writer knew there was only one character that could sum it all up. The beginning and the end. Alpha and Omega.

And that character is:

.