Sometimes I dont feel like writing. Often I become aware of a conflict between the part of me that talks way too much and another part that is highly self-conscious. I’m not self-conscious in a “shy” way but rather in a way that recognizes my egotistical need to gab, show-off, pontificate, and be noticed. I could try to believe I am merely attempting to “chronicle my thought process” and “share my personal insights”, but even I dont buy that load of horse crap. It’s narcissism plain and simple, with a dash of theatrical genes.
The irony is that blogging without a fan base or dedication to social media success (through marketing knowledge, self-promotion, etc.) pretty much insures that ones writing will be alot like toilet paper, used today and gone tomorrow. There is something existentially funny but bittersweet about that. Sort of like that old Voyager satellite we launched into the Cosmos many moons ago that just keeps going and going looking for intelligent life, but not knowing if anybody or anything (like a three headed, eight limbed alien) would even be interested once it was “found”. It reminds me of when I was addicted to going to thrift shops and garage sales (ok, I still am a little tiny bit). Everybody including myself is busy sifting through the piles and piles of personal debris and half-broken utensils. Like curious apes or incredulous aliens we turn household objects upside down and all around wondering what it was, who’s it was, and whether it had any value….to someone. It probably did at one time. Todays generic flotsam was yesterdays personal treasures. Most of the time we still see it as useless junk and toss it back in the cardboard boxes underneath the various non-matching tables at the estate sale. I almost feel bad for that stuff as it didnt even make the “cut” to be displayed on fold-out card tables and way out of date formica kitchen counters. It makes me ponder peoples lives, the span of time, and all sorts of nostalgic things, including how short and precious life is. Today we are here. Tomorrow is coming, if we are lucky. I suppose we should try and remember that and not worry so much about the little things or material objects. Still, I dont regret the mint condition Baconator I found for a dollar. That was a good deal.
Editorial Correction: Thanks to an alert reader, I was reminded that a “Baconator” is NOT a Ronco product but an especially high fat, artery clogging kind of hamburger at Wendy’s. The correct term for the useless product I bought is a “Bacon Wave”. I hope Wendy’s Corporate office and Lead Counsel will forgive the error and now remove the lawsuit and lien off my home, cars and nearly non-existent bank accounts….