Lacking Profundity (and how microbes are like mid-century African militias)

I don't have anything profound, or witty, or emotional or compelling to say, really, but I'm trying to get better at that whole just-keep-writing-even-if-it-sucks-and-has-no-point thing, instead of waiting for a fantastical, glittery whirl of inspiration to sweep me off my feet and onto my keyboard. 

Exhibit A. 

Mostly, I felt the need to let all four of you reader-folk know that I made it through the aforementioned surgery just perfectly. No anesthesia heaves, no major pain left uncontrolled (a disproportionately huge fear of mine, bordering on phobia); recovery has gone well, also, if a bit sluggishly, since I'm still on IV antibiotics to keep any lingering hangers-on from rising up in snotty revolution, and/or migrating south to the less anticipatory lands of my windbags - or at least thwarting their efforts, regardless. 

Sidebar: lest the previous sentence make NO sense to you whatsoever, a little back story. I used to just think of like, "me" versus "the bugs" in visual but vague "battle" when it came to specific bacteria and such that I was "fighting". That changed during my "Foreign Policies of African States" course in college, which was the intellectual equivalent of Dorothy landing in technicolor Oz (and in which I learned the previous, engh, 100 years or so have essentially been a series of very complicated and competing soap opera plots, but with warring militias and self-interested colonizing powers instead of mistresses and "successful businessmen", respectively) I envision various microbes as competing militia groups within various richly resourced territories (organs/systems, such as "sinuses", "lungs", "gut", and "joints") all with existing but unstable governments (respective immune defenses) unable to maintain security on their own, and therefore vacillate between inviting outside (e.g., medicinal) help before their regime collapses, and alternatively, knowing when the writing is on the wall and therefore freak out trying to prove they're big and tough on their own (generic "meh" feeling, sore joints) before calling in NATO/UN/NGO backup once it's too late to do anything (organ/system-specific symptoms clearly identifying the source of conflict). 

*This* is how I wish I pictured infectious microbes, if I have to "picture" them at all.  Also, how I imagine others visualize, say, a nasty virus (again, if they do, in fact, caricature and visualize a virus). 

This is how *I* picture infectious microbes. 

So, um, where was I?

Oh, yeah - so, surgery and recovery went well. I did, apparently, tell anyone who would listen that I thought my surgeon's research fellow was hot, and apparently inquired with like frequency as to his marital status. I was teased about this by my surgeon at my follow up visit, but was also assured he was flattered. Fab.

Mmk, so surgery went well, follow-up went well, lots of squirting-of-the-stuff-up-the-nose and disgusting-but-expected stuff in between, yada yada blah je blah. In the meantime (and not in the painkiller-meantime), I decided I want to get serious about finding a way to eventually make writing the way I actually support myself. Haven't really figured out much past that, except that it's the only thing I've been consistently, undeniably both good at AND interested in for the better part of my existence, and that instead of running around like a honey badger, um, badgering everyone for advice on how to be a grownup and what to do with my life, perhaps I should listen to the broken record playing from most of their mouths since middle school. And since stand-up (frequently the first suggestion) isn't really a viable career option until/unless the comedy club circuit goes-smoke free, and because I'm not quite ready to double down on the whole androgynous-funny-girl thing (despite that, too, running as a theme throughout my adolescence and beyond), I should maybe quit trying to swim against the current and mold myself into some idea of what I wish my talents were, and who I was, and sort of not just own, but run with those that I have and who I am. 

In short, who I am and what I do is talk a lot, make people laugh, piss people off, and if I'm lucky, make people think. And it's neither narcissistic nor lazy to at least TRY to spend my life and if all goes well, make my living doing those things. 

I don't really have much of a game plan, past that, yet - I'll keep reading a lot, write even more than I already do, and start actually "publishing" what I write more often (don't get excited, I literally mean, "click the publish button"). Any further advice I will gleefully absorb, but I think that's a good start for now.  And if it's not, well, I'll find that out soon enough, aye?