The one thing I didn't anticipate after just a few posts, is the flood of thoughts and theories suddenly racing through my crazed, disorganized mind and the resulting need to jot it all down like a panicked fiend. The fucked up thing about wanting a fix, is the connect never seems to sync with daily crap. So here I am, twitching with delight that I'm finally sitting down at my keyboard.
I'm trying desperately to stick to a topic or 3 so I don't lose you. But then again, this isn't about you, is it? I know I tend to drop quite a few "F" bombs and while my potty mouth is something I'm working on in real life, I find it cathartic to just be myself here. If people are turned off by my salty language (love that cliche), tough shit. Go away then. I suppose I should change my settings on Blogger to that "18 & over" warning but it's not like I'm posting dirty pictures or anything. Yes, I've thought of starting a swear jar, but who carries that kind of change on them?
Funny, when I don't have the time to write, er blog, I'm bursting with things to say. Now that I have some quiet time I'm at a loss. Back in the day, I just kept a little notebook in my backpack or scribbled on a napkin so I could come back to the thought later. It just doesn't work out that way anymore. Besides, ever try scribbling on a baby wipe? Lack of little notebooks isn't the problem either. I've got plenty of those if I could just remember where the hell in this cluttered mess I put them. The problem is that it just isn't reflex anymore. I know, we change as we get older blah blah blah...but you know what? It still blows. It blows that the things that made us swoon, that invoked some sense of passion, compassion, whatever - just something - somehow drifts off into an abyss of routine and obligation. We become convinced that it's some sign of maturity but deep down we know it's a goddamn lie to help us rationalize why we've sold out. So what now? Can't go back, can we? Can't just buy back in after selling out. That would really make us tools!
If you're still with me on this bullshit rant, I love you. I love you for indulging me in my nothingness, for validating my need to purge whatever the hell is brewing up here, even when there isn't much. Now the sound of a whiny, tired toddler beckon me. Good night.