He would mock me, if he knew who I was. And if he wasn't dead.

I'm trying to figure out why I didn't already have a blog. (Apart from the fact that all the names I want on the free servers are taken. "Meatscape" was like choice #12.) I don't know. Blogging from the unwashed masses seems awkwardly desperate somehow. Like in high school when you wrote journal entries or poems ("my heart, my heart, it grows black and falls apart") and then *accidentally* left it for the cute punk girl in Drama class to find. *See?* I'm deep! So kiss me!

(shudder)

I mean, who am I to make personal wordslough publicly available? The only person who I can imagine wants to keep track of me and know what I'm doing or thinking is my wife, and maybe my mother. And that's dangerous, because more than anything, a blog entry says "I'm wasting time at work" or "I opted to do nothing instead of installing those shelves in the garage."

Yeah...that's probably true, but I don't want *them* to know. Or to know that *I* know.

Bah.

Mr. Sam Clemens once said that it was "better to stay silent and look a fool, rather than speak and remove all doubt."

Maybe typing doesn't count.