Good Sit

So one post a day, that's gotta be a rule. Two posts in one day... now that's just desperate. In fact, maybe you shouldn't even post every day. Yea, wait a week, keep them drooling, waiting for more. Train them to wait. You've got them wrapped around your god damned little finger, don't you. You little writer you. Who are you kidding? No one is reading this stuff, and no one is going to. Well, maybe your wife will read it, and she'll read it because she is awesome, and because she is awesome, she will tell you that it's good stuff. But what about the rest of them? You know, the people that don't know that you're amazing in the sack, and will say just about anything to appease your greatness? You know. Them.

Ha. As if there is a Them. But really, that one post a day thing has got to be a rule, and you need to stick to it. All you're doing is rubbing your fingers over the keyboard because it feels good to type again. You like the way it feels when you let go of your hands, and disconnect the brain, and see what comes up on the page. Just be sure you have a pretty good spell checker. Yes. check your spells before you cast them. But after you do, you can't look back. That, too, is a rule. Don't look back. At least not too hard. Keep the focus loose and easy... step away when you need to.



Where did you go, little bloggy? Oh, here you are. Sometimes you get lost, out of pocket, as it were, if I let you get too far away from me. Christ. What am I doing? You can't just put all of this out there for anyone to read, can you? No. Don't do it. Don't say anything too crazy. Don't tell them about your co-workers that drive you nuts, the end users that don't know what they are thinking when they proclaim widespread outages. No... don't tell them about that. Too boring, too mundane, too routine. We all know about that. Your job isn't worse than mine.

But you have to tell them something, don't you? You have to write about something of merit, something worthwhile of their time. You have to put something together that is interesting, funny or sad, so much so that they are compelled to read it until they are blue in the face. Or something like that. Blue somewhere, anyway.

Remember? You were going to tell them about your dog, and how she can sit now. Not really that she can sit now, she could always sit, but now she actually sits when you tell her to. You say "sit", and she does so, anxiously looking in your eyes for a small piece of chicken or steak, or bacon. Sometimes she gets it, sometimes no. But now it seems more often than not, she will actually get into that sitting position for you, just by saying the word, or making the hand gesture, or by pulling the small bit of meat out of the treat bag. Some day, though, she will just do it because you say it, and only because you say it. You say it, she does it. That'll be the day, now, won't it? Of course, in her little doggy brain, you know she'll always be harboring a little bit of resentment, wondering where that follow up prize is, and why you are being so greedy in not doling it out. Yes, you, pack leader, where's my treat?

Maybe you should sit down and rest a little bit, I mean you just wrote all of those words before. You've already done what you need to do, haven't you? You can't possibly have more to say, can you?

No. No I don't. Not sure I have anything else to say. Not sure I've ever actually had something to say, but sometimes I think I should say something sometimes. Who can argue that? You have to say something sometime, don't you? If you don't say something, aren't you just kind of hitchhiking? Tagging along for the ride, as it were?

Well now I've had some pizza, and I've had a few beers, but at least I haven't done anything really wrong. Not that I think, anyway.

Maybe not. Maybe the best thing to do right now is to relinquish control...

warming up....

Nobody ever said that you were a writer. Not even you. I mean, sure, your later grade teachers said you should write more, but that was only because they wanted to give more homework, right?

When you sit there late at night wondering where you are, and how you got to be here, you don't really question it all to hard. I mean you are where you are because you followed your chosen path, right? Maybe you didn't choose that path, but maybe that path was decided for you, and you followed it just the same. Shame on you, then. How can you complain about where you are if you didn't really question it while you were getting there?

How can you write about all of it if you're still scared? I mean, what if your mom finds out that you smoked cigarettes, or even marijuana? Maybe she finds out that you stayed out all night in the middle of junior high, in the middle of a field exploring your sexuality, and maybe even someone else's? What if that kind of shit gets out there and is public knowledge? You will never live it down, now, will you? Or maybe you will, maybe you'll find yourself relieved of a burden that you never thought you carried. Maybe the release that you've been looking for has been found, and you're ready to open up, and tell all.

But then you find that there's nothing to tell. There isn't a single iota of interesting crap to write about. oh sure, you could write about the frozen pizza that sits next to you, or your wife that passed out ten minutes ago in the chair next to you twenty minutes ago... but neither seems particularly interesting, or even fair, for that matter.

But you did it. You sat down and wrote something. Didn't you? I mean, look at all the words up there. There they are, all put together by you, in your little order, to take on your little meaning. You little writer you.

Better to keep the microscope aimed inward, at least for now, while you get used to this keyboard. Who knows where this keyboard has been. And what kind of pizza it has had spilled on it..

Testing an mp3

How does one put an mp3 up?

Box.net

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do i need another place on the web? Really? Reeealy?