Hairy

Here I go. Typing words.

Ranting.

Completely mental.

Self pitying little jerk that I am.

You don't want to hear it.

It's irritating to have to put up with. I understand.

Oh, these complaints, they are mindless. They go on and on, with no end in site. Your eyes start to roll, your mind has already wandered. You contemplate when it will be over, but you know that silence is a fast fleeting dream at this point.

It's sad for you. Since when did friends stop to exist and blogs become a place to put your feelings on display? You want everyone to know just how crappy you are feeling, so you post it online because you can get your words out more clearly, and of course, more can read it.

Is that how insecure I am? That I need people to read my every thought? I mean, obviously I don't put my every thought out there. I haven't been killed yet, so it's pretty apparent I have kept some things to myself.

But really? Yeah, I guess it's true. Every time I have felt that people are ignoring me, or just not understanding the poorly formed words that fall out of my mouth I proceed to type it out and post it on here for everyone.

If you don't like it, then you don't have to read it. That's what I always say....or think. However, perhaps I should be more thoughtful with what I post.

Maybe I should include more entertaining and pithy dialogue. I could talk about the witty banter had over a game of chess and a hot cup of coffee from this past weekend. Except there was none (there was coffee, but when is there not coffee? And why would you want to hear about that? So of course I am talking about the witty banter over chess). I could talk about the latest silly, cute, totally stupid thing, my super hot boyfriend did. Except....all of that would be fabricated and puke worthy.

So what should I write about? I don't do poems. I try not to do sermons. I like speaking my mind. But perhaps people are tired of hearing it.

I really shouldn't be so stuck on myself. That is about the worst witness. Being a selfish little pig.

So I hereby say, I'm gonna work on that.

And my apologies.

I shall finish this post with a short tale.

This is the tale of the Sleeping Sister.

She slept, and slept, and slept.

This sleeping sister slept at nighttime, when all of the best people snooze.

She was one of the most magnificent sleepers you'd ever see.

Brilliant really.

There was only one trick to her slumbering (oh, you're clever, you knew there'd be a trick)...

That hitch in her sleeping was this....

during the day, when she was not sleeping she was a terrific talker.

Do you see where this is going?

So she took that terrific talking to bed with her, and combined it with her sleeping.

So whenever anyone would enter the room to admire her slumber, she would begin to speak.

At first people were amazed. Then they were confused. Then they just got down right annoyed.

For you see, she never made sense. She would speak of cats, and of baking. She would carry on conversations in great detail about the quickest way to rid yourself of a muscadine rash.

She hardly ever said anything useful, she just ranted and snored.

This sleeping, speaking sister was quite a mystery to all who surveyed her.

She still is.

There is no conclusion.