When we go, what do we leave behind? Other people's memories? Perhaps some weak high school essays or some video tapes of talent shows we were ashamed to be in in the first place? So why NOT have a few extra journal entries here and there to leave behind. Even though I'm sure that, after you're dead, if you don't update for awhile (which I'm assuming most posthumous people aren't capable of doing), your account probably gets killed. But still. If I took that logic into consideration it would totally ruin my point.
And so I post. And, much like all the greats, my work won't truly be appreciated until after I'm dead. Okay, so that's a lie. And I've always hated when people have said that. Just because Mr. X and Ms. Q had problems being recognized before they died doesn't mean "all the greats" did. Seriously. What kind of idiocy is that? I'd rather be appreciated in my own time. And I'm halfway willing to sell out if that's what it takes. Who wants after death appreciation? Wouldn't you want to be around to appreciate people appreciating you? Stunning how logical logic is sometimes.
Anyway, I believe I've strayed from the original topic. And that is that I will try to post on a more regular basis now. However, I'm toying with the idea of making this that oh so exclusive thing known as the
FRIENDS ONLY JOURNAL
Ooooh...scary thought, isn't it? To think, those of you whom I ban from viewing this thing will never again get to see my innermost thoughts. Stop applauding. I mean it.
So I leave you with the promise to start posting more regularly. But I also warn you that it will be with the sacrifice of this more than likely becoming friends only. And that means that if you want to REMAIN on the friends list so you can read all this candid stuff (like what I like on my hot dogs or what my favorite Goldie Hawn movie is [trick question: I don't have one]), you'll just have to leave a comment on here and BEG me not to get rid of you.
Of course I'll reiterate this in another, shorter, less nauseating post. Because no one has made it this far through this one. Look, I'll prove it. I'll just start making up sentences with random words. Watch. The dog looks like a deaf monkey when he flings turds through the trees. See? Or how about...I never liked Abraham Lincoln because his face closely resembled Hitler's ass. Now see, if anyone were still paying attention, they'd be both thoroughly confused and convincingly outraged at the same time. But that's okay. Because Grandma hates to play piano in front of naked strangers holding candy canes. My, isn't this fun.
And now I believe I'll big you adieu while I go sit and think. It's a fun thing to do. Especially at 6:30 in the morning. Occassionally a thought will end up coursing through my fingers until it reaches the paper. But that's generally quite messy, what with all the blood strewn about and whatnot. That's why I try to hold a pen while I think. It keeps the gore level down considerably.
Do take care, miscreants. You're not really miscreants. I just really like that word. If, indeed, it is a word. If not, ignore it and just pretend I called you all poo poo heads. That's kinda fun to say anyway. Try it yourself.
Poo poo head.
Poo poo head.
Isn't vocabulary fun?
P.S. Yes, I typed "big" instead of "bid." Like you've never had a typo before? Screw you, butt chowder.