As grateful as I am for each and every visit, I write this blog for me. Helps me sleep, you see - knowing I’ve mined the day’s chase for any trickle of wit or glimmer of wisdom. Even when I come up empty, I’m happy to have strapped on the helmet, for far too long I dawdled topside, curious to know what lay beneath, but too distracted to ever start diggin'. Now, after tunneling in a time or ten, this is where I wallow. Hopefully, you've been able to use the ore I've extracted for what fun’s a gusher if you can’t share it with your friends? That’s what I consider you, kind reader - and one can never have too many friends. Let's face it: were my dance card a littlefuller, I wouldn't hole up in my tome-strewn home each evening, staring at a blinking cursor and trying to make it twitch. No - I’d be down at the Elk‘s Club, trying to impress some exec in a fez with talk of yellow crime tape, weather bunnies and bent sheet metal. That ain’t me. I’d much rather loiter in my little lab, wrestle perspective from the daily grind, maybe play a little Tetris. Someday perhaps I’ll monetize these lies; for now it’s awfully inexpensive therapy, discounting all the man-hours involved. God only knows what I could have accomplished down at the lodge in this time. I coulda been Grand Poobah by now!
So here I stew, an aging word nerd, resigned to a life of off-camera glamour as long as it keeps feeding me such fine blog fodder. Others laugh when I tell them the rest of my career is just field research for a book I'll never finish, but I mean it. The images I slather across the region’s living room sets every evening dissipates upon impact. But the pixelated drivel I leave here seems to linger. No one's ever gonna look over my grave and think about that vosot I shot. Even if they do this is time well spent, for through this portal I've developed something the very thing I use to yearn for. A Writing Discipline. When I first logged in here four years ago, I worried about running out of material. More than 12 hundred entries later, I ain't really sweatin' it.. While the ability and the urge wanes on occasion, my compulsion remains acute. I'd like to organize these thoughts, sandwich some of them between a binding and take it to the john. Someday that'll happen. For now however, I gotta get busy if I'm going to maintain my little harangue. Should in the process I grow pissy or befuddled, know I'll be better in a post or two. I may pretend to be prolific, but I'm really just making this up as I go.