Oh, sweet useless rambling of a haggard loser. Hahahaha.

I haven't posted in a bit. I do plan on downgrading my Fifteen for Friday to a Ten for Tuesday, starting tomorrow. I'm doing this for various reasons. One being, fifteen it just too many. Ten is reasonable. Friday's are busy. Tuesdays are boring. Got it? Mmk, moving on.

I haven't posted because I can't get my head out of books long enough to do so. I have two kids to take care of, which leaves me with a small amount of free time. Which is wholeheartedly invested in finishing the Jessica Darling series by Megan McCafferty.

(Though the older and supposedly wiser Jessica continues to annoy me in her slutty selfishness, I still can't stop reading.)

(I know what you're thinking. It's just a book. Jessica Darling isn't real.)

Yeah, whatever. I enjoy escaping reality for a time to get lost in the world of fantasy. Imagination is good for the soul.
(Assuming there's one lurking in there somewhere.)

Point being, it is not just a book. It's always much, much more than that.

Why do I do this anyways? This blogging thing? What purpose does it serve?

When I'm dead and gone (quite possibly before that), this blog will probably be lost in cyberspace. My thoughts, however shallow and boring as they may be, will be lost. Seems pointless. As does all these material things surrounding me right now. When we're dead, what use are they? Sure, we can pass them on. But the fact is, no matter how much someone loves you, the last thing they want to do is burden all of your belongings, feeling guilty for each thing they discard over the years, even though it's just sitting there collecting dust, doing no one any good at all. But that's the way it goes. We live, we collect, we die, we pass it down, it makes people feel obligated to cherish, they eventually throw it away maximizing their guilt, and eventually they die, and the cycle continues.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm not getting all "what's the point in living?" on you. I love my life, and I try to enjoy every second of it. I'm not questioning the value of life. I'm questioning the value of possessions. What the hell is the point? To make you happy while you're here. That's it, right? That's all it can be.

I feel like my father. I've heard time and time again from him how he doesn't care about material things. He doesn't need material things to be happy. (The funny thing is, I don't remember him ever actually being happy.)

Ahhh, I have to stop. I have to sleep. This is ridiculous. I'm completely delusional tonight. I should be in bed. Goodnight.




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