Me vs. Blog

There are times when I think that maintaining a blog on the internet is a frivolous, futile project due to the fact that I rarely have anything interesting to write down. Those precious, fleeting moments when I do write something, it’s usually in my paper journal, which is tucked in my desk, (and made from paper that doesn’t come from trees, because I tend to be a pretentious environmentalist at times).

But those thoughts are usually personal and need not be read by anybody, as they are not very engaging thoughts, nor are they tidbits of wisdom. However, I often think such things as, “Wow, what I just wrote with this terrible ink pen, in my journal made of paper derived from banana leaves whilst sitting on a plane, concerning the habits of first-class airline passengers whose only special treatment is a dish of candy, slightly more comfortable seats, and a separation from us lowly coach flyers by a flimsy blue curtain, is something that maybe someone else might find interesting, especially people who read extremely long run-on sentences.” 

So, here I sit, writing a blog entry which I may or may not write about in my non-tree-paper journal later on tonight when detailing my uneventful Sunday. There is really no point to this entry, no point at all, other than the fact that it may or may not constitute an interesting thought which whoever is reading this may or may not enjoy.

A Smudge On My Wall

There is a smudge on my wall, and I do not know how it got there. Sitting here staring at the smudge, I wonder where it came from, and how it affects my life. My answer is the following:

The smudge arrived by bus not three weeks ago, seeking work after being fired by his boss in Houston (for discovering an embezzlement scheme), and ended up in the suburbs, somehow. Cold, desperate, and alone, the smudge broke into my home and rested on my wall, where it soon starved to death considering it had not eaten in quite some time, nor realized its hunger in its depressive state. Its body is slowly decaying into a permanent, frivolous stain on my wall. It does not affect me in any way, shape, or form, as it has no way, shape, or form of its own. It simply remains a smudge on my wall, forever.

I May Be Missing My Mind, Montana

I returned from my weeklong vacation in Montana on Monday evening. Montana is a fantastic state full of (mostly) uninhibited wilderness and so much fresh air that I thought my nostrils were going to die from the lack of air pollution that I am accustomed to. I read six books while I was there, since there was not much to do besides doing absolutely nothing (with the occasional hike thrown in) and simply enjoying the peaceful mountain I was residing on.

Since I’ve been back, I haven’t done much besides getting back to work and taking it easy. I was glad to see my cat after the week I was gone, since he was apparently horribly depressed in my absence. (My cat, Skywalker, follows me around wherever I go when I am at home.) I am trying to lose the five pounds I gained in Montana, due to lack of exercise and watching what I eat, by getting back into my running/exercise routine. The monotony of my day-to-day life will surely destroy my sanity by the time the summer break is over.