Finding a point

You know, I really don't know what the hell I'm doing here sometimes.  I've just discovered a few blogs, really well written pieces of observational text in my opinion, and now I'm questioning exactly what it is I want to do with this thing.  It's nice...no, nice isn't the right word...it's liberating?  comforting?  to find people, complete strangers, out in web space who share similar points of view.  It's also a teensy bit scary to know that some of these people are clinically depressed...or have been...or are medicated.  Does this mean I am too?  Do I need meds?  I don't want meds.  Maybe I do, but I just don't know I do because I'm not on them and I'm skeptical of the entire pharmaceutical industry.  More paranoid than skeptical...but skeptical nonetheless.  Jesus, I probably do need medication. 

Anyway, that's not the point.  The point is that I have read some of this stuff, probably just the tip of the iceberg, and I love it.  I stumbled onto it quite by accident when doing a Google search on the phenomenon of people who fill the back windows of their vehicles with beanie babies.  Such a random thing to see, but I saw that kind of car in a parking lot last week and got curious.  Was I missing a trend here?  I didn't know they still even made beanie babies.  Is there a community for this?  So, I googled and wham!  Found a delightfully snarky post about this exact thing ...and then a whole blog universe opened up.  Made me want to write more.  Made me want to have something more to say than just lamenting about my moderately fucked up life with limited follow through. 

This happened when I very first started blogging also.  I bounced onto a blog on myspace and was entirely captivated.  I spent one whole day reading every post this girl had written.  Her name started with an L.  What was that?  I should try to see if she's written anything else since then.  I mean I was hooked.  And inspired.  All I wanted to do was find witty things to say about the weird shit I was dealing with at the time.  My X had just left, ants had shorted out my HVAC unit.  Ants!  Surely I could find pithy things to say about that.  Hell, I cracked my friends up with this material all the time; why not write about it and regale other complete strangers with the bizarre, fascinating tales that consumed my otherwise normal-seeming suburban existence?  Tah dah!  Blog born.  It was so much fun.  Eventually it got weird though.  I felt like too many strangers were knowing too much about me and I shut the whole damn thing down.  Such a mistake.  I really miss some of those early posts.  There was one in particular about pens in space.  Sounds ridiculous now, but I was pretty proud of it.  I wish I could find that again.  Too many evolutions of computers and nothing saved to disc probably makes that one gone forever.  Damn.

Now I have a whole other myspace incarnation but I don't want to blog there anymore; hardly even want to log on there anymore.  Seems so juvenile now.  I mean, I am thirty freakin' seven, what the hell am I doing with a myspace?!  Honestly.  It's practically embarassing sometimes.  What the hell was her name?  Lane?  Lexy?  Something mildly unusual.  She had a dog named Brooklyn, I know that...hmmm.  I digress, I did surf around the other day about how to import my second generation myspace blog to here.  I think I even tried it...I remember it not working.  Made the whole stupid computer completely freeze up.  I bagged it without going further.  Not sure who I want to see this anyway.  Not sure who would even want to see this. 

Who would want to keep updated on what I have to say?  Rambling on about the useless drivel that consumes me on a (somewhat) daily basis?  Meandering through sleepless nights when I should be getting my 8 hours (which is usually only about 5 or 6 because I am a late-night-sitter-upper out of extreme habit)?  Seriously, who in the world...?  And then I read someone's post about an imaginary beaver that makes salsa, and another one about how someone else thinks a ringing telephone is inherently rude.  It didn't make me think, "What a jackass thing to write about.  Who cares?!"  It made me think, "Oooh, right on.  I have got to focus.  Use more words.  Better words. Find a fucking point."  No one is going to turn my strange little corner of the world into a weekly Showtime series if I don't get some of it seriously documented while it's still fresh.  Still working that aspect of it.  There are some parties who might feel that they are unfairly portrayed in the story of my life.  I am really not ready to deal with that in the 3D world just yet.  Perhaps another point in favor of the medication I should probably be prescribed by the therapist I should be seeing.  If I had insurance.  Or if pharmaceutical companies didn't scare the crap out of me...

Lacy! Her name was Lacy. I knew it would come to me eventually.

Anyway, there are other things I could write about now, like how much I love not itching.  I had a violent case of poison ivy a few weeks ago and now that it's gone I have at least one moment every day when I am aware of no longer being broken out in a gruesome, weeping rash that made me want to peel all the skin off my person.  Odd the things you take for granted.  Not itching.  I could write about the high-end grocery store where I used to shop but had to part ways with when my X stopped giving me money for a while.  I was there last week getting foofy items for a gourmet pity party of one...'cause that's where all the gourmet shit is supposed to be, right?  In the high-end grocery store?  They didn't have a goddamn thing I wanted but every ten feet throughout the store, like idiot magnets, were brightly accessorized, overpriced, useless, impulse-buy displays.  The general deli area was awash in bleach fumes so noxious my gag reflex kicked in ...and no one batted a lifted eyelash.  The whole scene was instantly hilarious and disturbing.

So anyway, I guess the point of this post is that I need to get my head on a little straighter about where I want to go with the blog.  I want to write more regularly.  Now granted, I'd rather it not be at 3 in the morning when my brain won't shut the hell up, but whatever, inspiration happens when it happens.  I want to write about all the strange, ridiculous things out there.  Cultivate a writer's eye; better express the hilarity I so often find amid the mundane.  I would say express it less sarcastically but I don't think I can give that up.

And that is what was keeping me up. Hell, now it's four in the morning.  I don't know if I should even try to sleep at this point.  I would surely hit the snooze button too many times in the "morning" morning (two hours from now) resulting in a late wake-up time for everyone.  Frantic running around trying to find shoes and signed progress reports...ugh...what a mess.  Alright coffee...game on.  Tonight, sleep is for the weak.