Dear sir or madam will you read my blog, it took me years to write, will you read this fog?
Family visiting. Roofers above us. Cold breakfast because sister-in-law decided to sleep in the family room instead of the bedroom, and I'm afraid operating the microwave will awaken her. My God, the multitude of ways we find to inconvenience others.
But are there others?
Not much writing of late. The whole internet seems increasingly stupid, as though at best a life-wasting procrastination device. I mean, chrissakes, as though others really need to know what I'm rando-accidentally thinking. And of course they don't, and are mostly too busy busting a keyboard to get their own rando-accidental thoughts before the eyes – and maybe ears – of others they've precious little to read – let alone fathom – others'.
Love affair with the other place seems firmly fizzled, I imagine due to having rando-accidentally arranged character and/or word sequences in ways that tripped others' self-righteousness alarms. You know.
So, I dunno. Whatever. The nothing-burger-ish-ness of thoughts, right? All alive due to attention, yet somehow also vying for it. Me me me! Pick me! Think and dwell upon me!