As my only subscriber to this blog, I thought I would give myself a nostalgic treat. Back in 04 I wrote something that I keep coming back to for some reason, reading it over, and realizing not much has changed in my thinking at times like this. Something feels off, and I don't know what it is. It's hard to explain how I feel when I feel like this, but this 04 post seemed to do it. Not much of my writing is even readable by me years afterwards - But this is. I don't know why, but I've been feeling down for the past week. It's not exactly depression, I'm not sure what it is. My anal-ytical side wants to think it's complaining about really having nothing to complain about, but that's too emo for me to accept. I just read this when I'm in those moods, and I feel better somehow.
It's one of those days...Ok, It's not. At least...I don't think it is. I mean it...COULD be, and I'm just too oblivious to see it. Well then again, it might...NOT be, and I'm paranoid and just wonder if it is or
could be. You see, I woke up this morning, but I'm not really awake. It is summer, yet it is cold. I went to work and didn't exactly 'work'. I went to lunch, without having lunch. During that time I relaxed with my GameBoy, while being annoyed and frustrated by the game. After...lunch, I came back to...work. I'm now writing this without writing about something; I guess that I'm not really writing. I can also say I'm 'not writing' this in Notepad, in other words, I'm 'not blogging' this and doing so without my blog. I'm listening to music right now without being able to hear it. Earlier, my safety glasses...broke when they fell. At my job I manage to manage without someone to manage and without having a manager. And, I report to no one, only you, right now: And there is nothing to report.
Yes, a day of insignificance, July 8th, 2004, made significant by writing this and now a part of my history recorded on this insignificant website. Compounding all this, I figure I shouldn't be afraid of impending unknowns; while a part of me says I should be. But one thing I'm sure of is that if the proverbial tree falls in the forest, and I'm not there to hear it: I won't care about it one bit, but I'm pretty sure I might "not write" about it. I mean, is there much difference between this body of text and "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy" written 10,000 times? Maybe. The difference is if Jack had a copy and paste function in notepad, he might have had more time to play with the twins in the hall of blood.
And if all this confuses you and doesn't make any sense, then you understand, completely.
Time to paste this to my blog.