i write because i'm happier when i write. not because i'm a good writer.

-shanita john-

It's not you, it's me.

Many of you have on multiple occasions, inquired about the seemingly lengthy time gaps between my blogs. I write. Disappear for a period of about thirty daysreturn with some proudly accomplished feat of unparalleled ignorancethen I disappear again. Reasons for this are unclear, I realize. And I am not insensitive to your need to observe from a safe distance, the self-depreciating acts of one less aware.

But, could it be that beyond these occasional incidents of curbside proposals and sexual propositions made by crossdressing hermaphrodites at the local supermarket (did I not tell you about that?) my life may just actually be normal? 

As one who proclaims her existence to be evidence of a Divine Cartoon Network, normal seems out of the question.

I know. I, too, am flabbergasted. As one who proclaims her existence to be evidence of a Divine Cartoon Network, normal seems out of the question. But alas, I am quite boring.

See, if I wrote on a more regular basis, when compelled by the everyday beauties and follies of life, then for me, the act of writing would be intolerable; and for you reading would border on the down right inhumane. Instead of "Humans are disgusting," a recent not-so-in-depth look at bus terminal mating procedures, titles would become mundane and more along the lines of,  "The Copy Machine is Resilient" and "Peeing and Other Understated Pleasures."

I know. I, too, am flabbergasted.

True, these are still the same senseless, unedited ramblings of an addled mind. But I still wish, above all else that your ventures into addled-mind readings, be pleasant.

So, to put it more succinctly, and to humorously echo a familiar line indicative of a relationship soon to be weighed down by the burden of one, or both, party's excrement: It's not you ... It's me.

Until later. Cheers.

Just something mushy about friendship.

Humans are disgusting.