the soul-baringly honest blog

Most of the blogs I see (many of my friends') are honest, and this is a good thing. Very often, the blog is used as a little vent to release some steam-- to talk about their lives from a slightly different perspective, and to a markedly different audience, than they might find in ordinary conversation. And especially practical is the blog's lack of consequences. Joe Blogger can say things about his boss that Joe Smith certainly couldn't tell his boss in person (and I don't mean rude or dangerous things, just honest criticism-- which, unfortunately, is never as welcomed as some people claim it will be).

I appreciate the function of the blog as an outlet, and a chance to be someone else for a few minutes, to speak with total freedom and no inhibitions (or almost). But I also love cleverness, if it is genuine, and I think I enjoy clever blogs more than honest blogs. (I'm sure it's possible to do both, but generally they come at each other's expense.) The problem is that I am not very clever, and most often find myself in the middle of some pretty unclever but also insubstantial whining. I capture the worst of both worlds.

And so, in another blogcliche, I vow to be more entertaining from now on. And maybe I can link to stuff-- that always looks neat.

lethargy

I have done nothing today, and so feel kind of like a pile of shit. I woke up at 11:30 on the couch (where I slept because there is crap all over my bed), sat up and started watching TV. It is still on, and I have not set foot outside all day. And I'm still wearing my pants from yesterday, and I haven't taken a shower. Actually, I don't think I've taken a shower since Thursday.

But no exams today, and the exam I have tomorrow will be pretty easy. So I think I'll have a few beers tonight, kick back and relax. Some more-- like I haven't been doing that enough the last couple days, weeks, years. But in the meantime, I am going to make spaghetti from scratch... ooh, an interesting prospect. I'll offer my roommate to make dinner if he buys drinks.

Well, I asked him, and he said 1) he doesn't feel like spaghetti 2) he would buy alcohol, but 3) he has no mode of transportation to get down to Northwest Highway. Great.

Put "My Sharona" on the stereo, light up the stove, baby. I'm gonna make us some pascetti.

umm

Sit and tap, click. Read, wait, scratch your neck, and sit tap click again, hoping that something you write will really be good, really worth writing and worth reading. And it might be, because it's happened before-- thoughts are suddenly clear, and you can synthesize them freshly, easily. Words spring from your fingertips with unexpected slick felicitous facility, even if they sound a little over the top and dumb.

Sometimes it's a waste of time to sit and tap, pecking keys with the reluctance of pecking an aunt.

But sometimes, even when you don't say much, you get get the feeling that something greater than you has come through your fingers, through your mind. You actually write something better than you thought you could write, don't you? And that makes it interesting. That makes it worth sitting, tap, click.

It is late, and I am tired.

Good night, and good riddance.