The blog is as much a journey of self-discovery as it is about exposition, or voyeurism, or whatever else you happen to think blogging is about.
I talk to myself. A lot I mean like three hours non-stop per day, and so a lot of what I say to myself, I don’t actually write because, well, even I know that nobody wants to read it. Even I don’t really want to read it. I’m just venting.
I’ve been having trouble, for years now, reading. I’ll pick up the paper, and an editorial will catch my eye, and I’ll immediately get pissed off, because though I’ll be the first to admit I have a lot of strong opinions, I’ve never cared much to listed to the opinions of others.
One lady was ranting about how she though Christianity needed to be taught in public schools. I don’t even know where to begin with that. More and more, I have less and less interest in forming rebuttals to the same stupid opinions, so I wind up with the shorthand version: “Shut-up, stupid. Dammit! That’s just stupid. It’s so stupid, it’s making me feel stupid just for having read it, and now I can’t respond because you’ve brought me into your world of stupidity and now you’re beating me with experience.” While I’m often surprised that my little cousin doesn’t get biblical references I occasionally make, I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I’ve probably said this before, but Lord of the Rings is a better book than the Bible anyway.
I know this world is supposed to be about sharing. We’re supposed to be able to sit down in a room together and commiserate about the crappy weather, and taxes, and our stupid meaningless jobs, and our parents who never understood us, or our children who never listen to us because they think we don’t understand them. Or our significant others who do little things that annoy us.
One friend over the week-end, a friend of mine, let’s call her Joelle, gave her usual sob stories about how stoic she is, how she’s dated five multimillionaires who all treated her badly, or how difficult it is to be so beautiful, how men won’t stay away from her, and how women hate her. If you’re one of my female readers, I bet you hate her already. Yeah, I had a crush on her once. Year ago. Now whenever I hear her talk, there’s a little voice that tells me not to trust her. I used to find her stories fascinating, and now I still see others, male or female, enthralled by them. But now I find myself thinking that she’s either mostly full of shit, or she’s telling the truth, and she’s crazy. I’m not sure what point I’m trying to make with this, because after all, what she’s doing what I’m doing. Just telling stories, which is what I’m doing. Who can say how much of it’s true or not. For all you know, I just made Joelle up. I mean, I didn’t, but you’ve got no reason to believe me. No reason other than that you find it interesting, or that you simply want to, because you’re bored, and believing the story gives you something to do.
Here’s something I’ve noticed about myself, and by now, you astute readers have no doubt noticed it too. I tend to get ideas I LOVE, and carry them for about a week or two, and then I just get bored with them, or sidetracked. What list number did I get to, 16? Of course, I could probably catch up with the list, if I really cared enough. Anyway, that said, I have another idea, that I love.
Next month, the theme is going to be opinions I can’t stand. I’ll rant about one a day, because I’m a big hypocrite who loves his own opinions, and hates other peoples’. And frankly, no one can stop me.
Oh, and for those who care, the swelling in my leg has subsided, and it will probably heal quite nicely after all.