My intention was to write a post detailing the numerous pros and cons of consuming unusual dairy products: obscure international cheeses; pints of udder stout; creamed streptococcus thermophilus; oxen nadger curd; and so on. But what can be said about oxen nadger curd that has not already be said?
A cynical attempt to attract more female readers was to be made by highlighting the keywords "lactose" and "intolerance," although, tantalizingly, never in the same sentence.
For amateur scientists, a graphic and disturbing account of the time I unwisely examined a milk droplet under a microscope was to be included (my dreams were filled with images of churning, buttery, black worms for weeks afterwards).
I also planned to debate the controversial issues of full-fat versus non-fat yogurt; plain versus flavored; fruit on the bottom versus fruit already mixed in; and Greek yogurt versus yogurt from economically stable countries.
Then there was the whole flan equation that I wanted to discuss. A freshly served flan, as the physicists Gustavo Taht and Ernst Karamull both noted, vibrates at a rate of eighty million kilopuddings per microsecond. An eminently disputable statistic such as this obviously raises many questions, even if none of them are actually worth answering.
So why is no post about dairy products appearing this week? Well, much like Salem witches cast evil spells to make their neighbors milk go sour, an evil hex as fallen upon my dairy ruminations: the ancient and powerful curse of boredom.
In short, I am sick and weary of the subject before I've even considered writing the first word of the first sentence. This is a great shame since I have already expended a great deal of mental effort thinking about the subject, as you can see from the brief paragraph outlines above.
If only it were possible to take all those uncoordinated, unorganized thoughts and magically transform them into publishable blog form without actually sitting down at my computer and completing all that tedious typing. If only I had a secretary to act as a 200WPM milkmaid for the rich cream of my creativity, then I could pace around and pontificate to my heart's content while she tapped away.
Alas, I am but a humble scribe with no means to support such luxuries. The only office aides I have at my disposal are grim determination and black coffee.