It is hard to post without some sort of instant of stimulus. I must not be the blogger that gets cut off in traffic and angrily marches to his computer and says, "So, this guy on 294 just whips his sedan into my lane ..."
No, no, I'm not nearly that confessional. (If I am confessional, like Plath, I'll do it in a parenthetical and it will make the whole thing seem trivial. I could say things like: I have no idea what it means to love, I am insincere, I am cripplingly averse to commitment and I don't like that, I try to make myself like music that isn't that good if it's obscure. But, because I've placed it here--in this parenthetical--it is negligible. A remarkable way to distance myself from you, right?) If I were to confess, it'd be something useless like I put an empty ice tray in the freezer. Do you see now why I keep things away from the blogosphere?
So, this guy on 294 just whips his sedan into my lane, and I ... am ... pissed.
17.2.07
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2 comments:
i will say it: i am that guy. i am that guy that needs to blog about everything. i need a false sense of closeness with many many people. i need to force my emotions on others and know that they care. i need to make sure i am validated in my feelings about things and this is the easiest way i know how. i am working on it. i really am.
i loved this. anything i have to say following this will trivialize everything. i admire you, joel bobbett.
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