Grease me up, I've got a word baby to deliver.

So, for those of you who actually read this blog, you may have noticed that posts from old Facey have been few and far between lately. I've been suffering with the worst case of word constipation ever. No, I'm not going to use the phrase “writers block” because well for one thing I don’t think that “block” gives quite a vivid enough mental image for you. Yep, I’d rather you be thinking that I’m sitting here with a really sore creative gland because it’s busting at the seams with shit, clearly because I've eaten far too much word fibre, and now I’m kilning the literary equivalent of my own house brick.  

You’re welcome.

I've found myself in a particularly strange head-space of late that hasn't really been an environment conducive to producing Because Carrots blog post material. I've had lots of thoughts, lots of ideas and lots of things to say but none that really fit comfortably in the vein of the material that you see gracing the pages here. I’m sure ‘gracing’ is the correct term to use anyhow.

So in lieu of a usual post from myself, and no this absolutely doesn't count as a “normal post” because so far at least I've only sworn once, you get to play an active part in helping me apply my mental enema. So thanks, thanks for allowing me to have a place to push firmly but gently onward whilst spreading my brain cheeks for me.

And if this doesn't work I’m going to find me some fucking glitter to write with.