The blogger said write.as.. you're a fine site.. what a good life.. this could be
“I” was born on a Thursday. Or this body, at any rate. Not really much sure about the “I” part at all, come to think of it. It's said to have occurred to me, but there's some vicious horse/cart-ishness to it.
Great homemade pizza leftovers providing admirable creature comfort – and vitality, no doubt.
Rough night, last. I could probably get away with a description of “work-stress-fueled possession”. Not here on the homefront, mind you, but certainly amongst those who'd just be pretending to listen whilst gearing up to bore me with similarly tedious personal details.
I've been told today is Saturday.
Not by anyone in particular, mind you. There's this sort of species agreement, you see. Some take it even further than convention to the point of saying today “is” Saturday. Personally, I'm not going to go that far. As far as “I” can tell, what seems to be seen/known keeps turning out to be purely conceptual models of assumed-to-be objects/stuff...
... ack.... doncha ever get tired of words?
And then there's this.. what is it? A nagging.. and agonizing. Somehow it seems others need
<wife appears, role formalities ensue>
to know what I'm thinking...? And yet it can't just be my thinking, but more like MyThinking++: enhanced, produced, mere yarn spun what is believed/hoped to be clever, lotsa stress in that... must couch... present (verb) (which is kind of funny given its distraction from the present (noun)..).
And there will be posting mechanics, a sense of completion, of having put IT out there.
But it never satisfies. One is never even remotely sure others are seeing let alone understanding let alone enjoy it to the point of thinking one a really swell guy, and etc.
So again. And again. And projected infinitum!