I'm blocked, okay?

I've spent the last two days sitting around trying to think of anything that people might find interesting, and individually cursing each and every cold virus that still refuses to vacate my person. These have been equally effective.

I wrote a nice little spiel yesterday about the unfairness of the Russian skaters being allowed to keep their gold medals even after the Canadians received justice, but Blogger ate it, and I was too disgusted to rewrite it.

I just watched The Big Chill on Bravo. I was a kid when that movie came out. Now, I am the people in that movie. You know, except for the money, friends, and sex.

I have a fairly low threshhold of frustration. I expect it is the result of most everything I attempted in my formative years being so damn easy. Now, as an adult, it doesn't take all that much to drive me into a screaming, heavy object throwing, somebody's gonna die rage. I suspect this has something to do with why the apartments surrounding mine never stay occupied very long. And yet, I am unfailingly polite to random people I interact with in those periods.

I am what you might call a private person. In fact, it would surprise me greatly to learn that anyone reading this was aware of the facts in the prior paragraph. They know who they are.

I didn't mean to imply that I go into a rage and kill the people living around me. If anyone in authority asks, I never said that.

Because I am a private person, I am reluctant to reveal any personal information to anyone, at any time, for any reason. I've always been this way. I keep wanting to write these essays for this blog about who I am and why I turned out like I did, as if I knew the reasons myself. But then I remember I'm not the sort of person who does self-analytical revelatory essays, and try to jump tracks to a new train of thought. But they all seem to be pulled by the locomotive of introspection.

I enjoy straining metaphors.

When I was a kid, I went to all those Future Leaders of America camps, where they teach ya...I don't know what they were trying to teach me. It was right around then that I realized (and then forgot until earlier today) that the one thing I really want out of life is as little responsibility as possible. I don't want people to depend on me. I don't want my mistakes to affect anyone but myself. This explains a lot.

There's a better than even chance I'm not going to post this.

I hope you didn't come here expecting Happy Fun Blog. If so, please fill out the attached form for a full refund.

You now know more about me than anyone I've met in the last ten years.

Somehow, I know this is going to wind up in my file at work and come back to bite me on the ass. At this precise moment, I don't care.

Which doesn't mean I won't come back and delete it later.