So, where does one really begin with something like this? It's not like I have anything to actually talk about. Okay, so I have a ton I could talk about but not really anything that I want to say. Know how it is? I never have been a very good blogger. In fact, one could say I suck proverbial balls at it. All the balls in fact. One could go so far as to say that the balls, they are in fact sufficiently sucked simply by my lack of ability to blog properly. This is sad seeing as if one where to look at all of the blogs and posts on the internet it seems that every american that is able to cobble together at least two words feels the need to blog ad naseum about everything in their life that has, had, or will have happened. I seem to have somehow missed out on this particular stream of consciousness vomiting gene.
I suppose with that in mind I could start with why I am even bothering with this in the first place. There are a few reasons, and in my head they all make perfect sense. I'm sure later on I will realize that mistakes were made and that I do in fact regret everything. But for now they remain valid and tangible reasons for what amounts to the internet version of talking to myself. Because in the end that is all that 99% of the blogs out there are, someone talking to themselves and doing it in such a way that they are screaming into the void hoping that someone out there in the greater cosmos that is the "Interwebs" will hear them and share a moment of their time validating their outcry with some attention. At this point I have to question if that is all I am really doing myself. Do I want people to read this and in some way validate my digital existence? Probably. Who doesn't. Do I care if anyone ever reads this? Not in the damn least. I have no aspirations of becoming the next Allie Brosh and "making it big" on the internet with a blog. Would I mind if it happened? Again let me resoundingly say, not in the damn least. So lets get down to it then, cut to the chase, down to brass tacks as they say. Why am I doing it at all then?
The first reason that pops into my head and I try to cling to is that I need the practice with my writing. I use to be a fairly dab hand at cobbling together the old turn of phrase. Now, I am lucky if I can manage to force out something as simple as "Y I no has moar readursss". What's that you say? I have to have more reasons that that. Well, fear not good imaginary reader, I do. My next reason is that I needed somewhere that I can go to write about the things that interest me and I am involved with. Whether this be a project I am working on, a program that I wish to release to the world at large or give feedback about, talk about what is going on with my minecraft server, or what have you. It gives me an output. This also ties into my other reason. Like I said, I have no aspirations of anyone ever reading this. So this gives me a place to go to rant about things that are bugging me, talk about crap that I couldn't ever talk about with a person, in general get on my soapbox and scream obscenities at the universe. You might be saying to yourself though (if you were actually a real person), "But what if you get readers? Then you are talking to people!". Ah! But that is the beauty of it you see, because in the end that doesn't matter. I'm still not talking to a person. I'm like your little sister writing in her diary about that boy she likes, and your the big privacy invading asshole brother that sneaks into my room and steals my diary. I'm not talking to a person, I'm writing down my thoughts and you just happen to be coming along and reading them post coitus (Because like sex, this is often going to be ugly, involve funny noises, expressions, and weird fluids) if you will. So shame on you sir! Shame! Reading about my inner most thoughts and such. But it's okay, I wouldn't hide it in such a crappy place like under my mattress if I didn't really want it to be found. So let's just keep it our little secret for now.
"But you said you suck at blogging! So why even bother?" you would probably be wondering if you weren't just a figment of my imagination. Well, because I want to and fuck you that's why. I honestly plan on giving this the old collegiate try. I need to do something with my life, though that is a story for another time. So I plan on sticking with it. No giving up, no moving on, this shit will get real. In fact, it's already gotten real, it has been brought, I have already took of my earrings and told someone to hold my purse cause Imma fuck this shit up.
At this point if your still reading, and not screaming about teal deers and holy walls of text batman, you must be reenacting the Monty Python scene where everyone is yelling "Get On With It!". That's just it you see, there is nothing for me to get on with. I don't have a purpose, there is no underlying goal or common theme here. I am not going to pretend to try to make this about one thing in particular, and I damn sure am not going to pretend to try to make sense. So accept that now and move along with your life. I will ramble, I will be verbose at times, and I will jump around topics faster than a schizophrenic homeless guy in a library. And if I offend you while doing it? Good. Don't be such a sheltered little twat goblin anyway. The world isn't a pretty place and my head is damn sure not gonna be any better.
So imaginary reader, get the popcorn, get comfy, and let's get this shit started.
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