I think I've officially hit a writers' block. As some of you might be aware, I have not added a single thing to my blog for quite some time and when I have, it's been relatively dark and somewhat uncomfortable to read for the most part. That's ok. I'm ok with that. However, at this moment I cannot think of a single thing that I think you people would want to read. Not one. I got all kinds of things to say, as anyone who knows me can attest to, but nothing worth writing home to Mom about, so to speak. So...it's time for a little digital diarrhea...see, a little play on words that I just did there. Fingers...digits...digital...get it? It's not important. It usually isn't with me. I've come to the conclusion that I'm not as smart as I thought I was. I'm slipping as I rapidly approach the beginning of my fifth decade here on this earth. Yes, my fifth. Do the math...it works out.
You might not know what makes me tick...why I do the things I do. I'm ok with that too. I don't answer to anyone, for the most part. Yeah, the normal stuff like my boss and the authorities and the like just as every other poor working-class stiff does. But who really tells me what to do and when to do it? Nobody does. That's MY job. If I want to wear argyle socks to bed, that's my call. I've been known to put a big smile on my face and beller out a nice friendly 'go fuck yourself' to random people on the street. I haven't had the crap beat out of me yet, but the day will come, I'm sure.
That was all I could think of to say just now. The rest...I'm gonna wing it.
I don't know what tequila tastes like. Or whiskey.
I most certainly DO know what vodka tastes like and have not tasted it since 1992.
I don't eat tomatoes. The taste of raw tomatoes makes me want to throw up...and it has.
There is a pair of rabbit ears on my television, and yes, they still work.
The background on my phone is a picture of Tardar Sauce. That's Grumpy Cat for those of you who aren't cool enough to know that. Usually it's boobs or something involving boobs, but right now it's Tardar Sauce.
Good and bad things in my life seem to happen in twos. Children, marriages, divorces, trips to jail, tours of duty through rehab...I'm sure there are others if I sat down and thought about it.
I do not own a car.
Never driven a motorcycle...they scare me. Actually, me driving one is what scares me. There's too much potential for recklessness and I'd certainly have not gotten as old as I am right now had I started riding one when I was old enough to.
Contrary to my popular belief, I'm not...ooooo, no. We'll just leave that one alone for now and save that for a rainy day, I'm thinking.
Cripes...I'm really at a loss here. Maybe I just started writing to hear myself think. Who knows. Maybe it's a substitute for what I really want out of life. Freedom. Even with the threat of the NSA monitoring everything I say and do on the internet, I'm still supposed to be protected by the first amendment. There are certain things I just won't tempt fate with, but for the most part I am able to come and go as I please here. But anyways...there are things to be done. I have an entire planet of things to see and do. Soon enough, I'll see and do them. As many as I can before it's my time to go. I may have a heart attack. Car crash. Fall off a cliff. Get mauled by a bear (my personal preference, to be quite honest).
There is traveling to be done...there are so many places on this earth I want to go that I could never think of them all. Germany. England. Norway. Spain. Ireland. Chile. Finland. The list goes on and on and on some more. I may travel to see people, or just places...I honestly have no idea. Wait...yes, I do. There are a few people I want to visit. Just a few.
As of right now in this entry I still haven't thought of a title.
Ok...that's better. I used to think I was quite the writer, just rambling off a bunch of stuff and thinking it was good stuff. And not just good...I mean like New York Times good. It's not. I'm an amateur writer and that's all I'll ever be. People have said "Hey, that was good..." and all that jazz. Yeah...it was good. Just good. It wasn't Pulitzer material by any means and it never will be. I'm alright with that too. I got a big comfy couch to sit on while I do this and that's cool. That will be all.
