The weird thing about stream-of-consciousness blogging is when you review your posts, you'd think some stranger had possessed you when you wrote them. All that poisonous negativity couldn't have come from me! But surprise, surprise--it did! Ditto with all the the cheese and mush, and the boring stuff about the silly books you read and your budget vacations with your geeky family.
So why do I inflict this incoherent internal monologue on lost surfers who get washed up on this corner of the Web? Because I don't care about them. And about you voyeurs who like to read this sort of thing. I don't care for my readers, or if I have any at all. I only care about typing fast enough to catch my thoughts and freeze them here. I only care about saying things like they are, and not having to edit.
I hate editing myself. But I do it daily, just to survive among people. The world of people is not really my element, but I can find my way in it. It's like being Vulcan among humans. Oh wait, I suppose that made me sound like a nerd? *Self-conscious alert! Stop that thought before you start caring!*
There is some kind of comfort in being able to express my thoughts to someone, but to no one in particular. Makes me feel like I'm in the bathroom arguing with myself about the merits of Tea Tree feminine wash. Or in the cab looking out the window and mouthing lyrics to a song playing on my iPod. Like it were my own song. But I don't really have any of my own. I'd like to, though. *Digression alert!*
Ignoring the alert. This is my blog. I'm free to digress. But I'm tired of keeping up with my thoughts. I might as well end this here and watch Fringe. Yeah, I'll do that.
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