A Personal Note

This post represents one of those "wounded rants" that people give after going through an incredibly difficult and painful break-up. If you know me, though, these are the only ones I go through.

I'm so tired of even thinking about sex, dating, relationships...et cetera ad nauseum. If it's not the actual person you're relating with/dating with/engaging with/copulating with, it's the friends or family who volunteer their honest, well-intentioned, yet often poorly-timed/delivered or ill-informed opinion.

Morrissey, that oracle of irreverently gothic wit, said that "most people keep their brains between their legs". If that applies to me, it's time for a frontal lobotomy (or maybe just a bottle in fronta me).

I hate it all, and I give up.

The worst part is that I still have such feelings of adoration, love, and friendship for the one who went/was sent away.

Not the Grand Opening

So while I was tinkering on this pleasant Saturday morning, I kicked around ideas about what I should write for my initial post. I felt pressured, hesitant, yet certain that whatever I typed would fail to convey anything more than drivel.

This blog represents the result of direct pressure from my close contacts and indirect pressure from the world in which I roll. I always go kicking and screaming (though softly and with a big stick) through the portal of the newest technological change, so this is it.

It's like those stores that open before their actual Grand Opening. So, here's my blog (or is it blah-g) opening without the trumpet fanfare, plastic banners, and marked-up-in-price sale items.