Haven't 'blogged' in a while - so long, in fact, that I have decided to start up a brand new one and try to stay out of trouble with it for a few minutes. This is not my life story. This is not my life. My life is more boring/interesting than this. Just depends on what you call 'interesting', I suppose.
No hobbies that can be shared, no pesky kids to mewl about, just a bit of space where I'm going to put some stuff that I'm tired of looking at lying in the middle of the floor or tripping over when I come stumbling in in the middle of the night, fuzzy with alcohol and imagined arguments. It won't fit in the closet anymore, I've cluttered that with ambitious plans that I can't use yet and dented dreams that I'm hoping can be polished up and set out for when I have guests. Fancy dinnerware, if you'd prefer. The good forks.
I'm clearing off some surface space. I've got projects that want working on.
The internets are full of this stuff. Adventures real and imagined. Observations that can't be shared with friends. Broken promises. Aching secrets screaming to be heard. The whispers of the dying or wishing to be dead. What's a bit more? Why bother to behave with the environment? No one else does.
It's a flea market for the soul. I'm just claiming my parking space. Just gonna park my caravan here, unfold this table a neighbor didn't want on scrap day, roll out the damp and threadbare fake grass carpet here and set up shop. Business will be booming in the morning. Bartering welcome. Mind the dog.
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