Ah the pressures to write. As if I don’t have enough troubles on my own blog, now I’m trying to come up with something that won’t bore Miss Hessie’s lovely readers. No one here wants to read my rants on fashion atrocities and reckless drivers.
Instead, I will ask questions that have been floating around in my head. I don’t really want an answers to them (as there aren’t really answers), as much as I want to fling them out into the world:
Why is it so easy to see others clearly but not yourself?
Why must I constantly screw round pegs into square holes and then scream at myself because it doesn’t fit?
Why does it feel good to press an emotional bruise when I know it will deliver a sharp pain?
What is the fascination with Desperate Housewives?
This may be the last post that I can squeeze in here before Heather returns and wonders “What the hell was I thinking?”. But I know I’ll be looking forward to some spiffy pictures posted here soon.
It seems kinda empty with just words, doesn’t it?
The general near-consensus to my query about reading material was that I should not take any classic liturature with me on my public reading adventures, because a) I want people to assume I’ve already read all that stuff in high school or college, and b) it will look like I’m trying too hard. I should instead leave those works for late night, under-the-covers reading. I’m going to take that advice with Crime and Punishment.
And I should most definitely not take magazines with minimally dressed girls in them. Right?
So let me see if I got this right. Reading is sexy, as long as its not skin magazines, pretentious classics or any titles that might have negative word associations?
This is hard. I’m taking a cookbook next time.
Its bruce again. You know.. Mr. 10,000th comment?
(Sounds of trumpets blaring)
I’ve done the math, and I’m sure that the first threads of my welcome won’t start unraveling until about Thursday, the day that Heather is destined to return. But I figure that as long as I have access to such kind and literate people, I might as well do some research on a topic of recent interest.
I have three new books that I might start reading; The Jungle by Upton Sinclair, Walden by Henry David Thoreau, or Crime and Punishment by Fyoder Dostoevsky. Each has its merits; social justice, personal transformation, a cool russian name…
But really, what’s going to be the deciding factor, is this; which is more likely to impress a girl?
Hi, I’m bruce, Mr. 10,000th comment. As part of that prize package I’ve been left the keys to Freakishly Prompt while Heather is off. I, as well as a few others have been invited to “guest blog”, with the only instructions being “just make it literate and fun”.
As an Okie (someone from Oklahoma — its a state in the U.S.) we don’t really do literate. Well, except for S.E. Hinton who also happens to live around here somewhere. And if any of you have ever ventured over to my website you’ll see that I don’t really do fun either, just politics.
But I do like guest blogging, because it reminds me of housesitting. Especially this sweet housesitting gig I once had, where I was given free run of the swimming pool, the DVD collection, the imported beer in the garage fridge, and Omaha Steaks.
My girlfriend and I would head over after work, feed the animals, water the garden, swim in the pool, drink beer, grill steaks and watch movies until the crack of dawn.
And this… this, is nothing like that. Except the drinking of the beer.