done gone crazy

There. I said it. No, no. It’s true. You know it. I know it. It’s the truth. A simply stated fact.

I’m not an aspiring novelist, nor am I cataloguing a bike trip through Europe.

I don’t have a new baby whose every first I am trying to capture on this brilliant medium, forming for my family and friends, and perhaps the infant herself, the newest versions of the dreaded slide shows and home movies of yesteryear.

I’m not trying to poison minds or convert sinners or draw like minded people into the wonders of catholic fundamentalism.

I don’t have real estate to sell you and I don’t have any burning Hollywood gossip to share.

Nope. I have no political agenda. I have no wisdom to disseminate. I have NOTHING of any consequence to tell you. I am dull. Ordinary. Extra-ordinary. (Not to be mistaken for extraordinary, a term that, if you ask me – though of course you didn’t - doesn’t at all mean what it should.) And yet, in spite of this, I’m still somewhat compelled to scatter little, unrequested written pieces of myself here.

My point. I have a point: Why would anyone have one of these thingies when they essentially have nothing to say? And don’t be fooled, I DON’T have anything to say. This is not the part when I “surprise” (SURPRISE!) readers and suddenly launch into a beautiful and moving monologue, praising the unsung brilliance of each and every one of us that dares to have a voice. Nope. I wouldn’t do that. (cuz, y’know, it’d kinda be bullshit)

I sit here and I manage to string together a few sentences now and again (sometimes sentence fragments – so sue me), but they aren’t anything of substance. They aren’t relevant. Or timely or profound. Most of the time they’re not even amusing. It’s just me. Wasting cyberspace.

As far as I can tell, I do it because it’s like a little time capsule. A snippet of me at a moment in time, preserved like a snapshot of a little girl, sucking in a big breath of air before she blows out the candles on her birthday cake. Moments that are sometimes a little embarrassing, sometimes far too revealing, and often leave me wondering (much like each and every photo taken of me between the ages of 12 and 14) “What THE HELL was I thinking!!?”

So, anyway… yeah. Even though I admittedly have nothing to say, I can make sense of why I’m here.

But that kinda begs the question… What’s YOUR excuse?