It occurs to me that writing in this here blog is actually the closest I get to dealing with the real world on a daily basis.

Which is not very close, obviously. All I am doing is stringing words together for maybe five people max to see and read. And I am doing it from the cowardly comfort of my “garbage dump without the charm” style bedroom.

But still, those five friends of mine are all part of reality (a really lovely and greatly appreciated part!), and these words of mine do technically go out to the Internet at large, and that’s reality too.

I am, technically, exposing myself to the world when I do this.

Hi. I’m Michael. And before you ask, it’s because I’m uncircumcised.

Most of the penises in the world, man or beast, look like mine.

But yeah. Technically I am already “out there” in the real world, albeit in a very minor “tiny toe in the water” way.

And ya know – so far so good.

Doctor Costin keeps bugging me to make my blog into something bigger. Something more people would see so I could maybe attract an audience and maybe even make a tiny bit of money off it.

And it’s not the worst idea in the world. I am sure that these words, with all the raw emotion, poetry, and my strange sense of vision, could attract a following if they were exposed to enough potential readers.

Who knows, if I played my cards right and got very lucky, I might even be able to live out my dream of becoming a highly influential pundit.

I mean, I definitely have my own identity and a unique point of view. And my writing can be extremely provocative or even subversive.

I could be the best kind of agent of chaos if I had sufficient platform. Say things that really shake up how people see things by shaking the scales from their eyes so they can see what is truly going on in the world and how they have the power to stop it.

I should write a really stirring speech called, “You can save the world!”.

And you can. Just not alone.

But to make this blog more of a “thing” would require a very painful transition into worrying about quality and worrying about whether each entry is “good enough”. Is it smart? Is it entertaining? Am I saying something worth saying? And so on.

And I really don’t want to do it. This blog is my safe space where I can just write whatever is in me to write without worrying about my audience. It’s very important to me that it remains an unfocused and unformatted venue for all the thoughts in my head that are waiting to be expressed. I can’t go taming it. It would die.

But I can see myself starting another blog, or more. One where I did actually try to make it as appealing to a mass audience as I can and see if I can catch people’s attention.

Or at least piss them off enough to comment. I’d be… good at that.

It might end up being several blogs under various noms de plume to represent me writing in different modes. One for my high octave political screeds, another for my more philosophical meanderings, yet another for my more gentle comedic side, and so forth and so on.

Honestly, I could end up with a LOT of them. The voices in my head are legion and they are all eager to grab the mic and deliver their message.

Well whatever. Sometimes we have to do crazy things in order to express ourselves.

Why should I be any different?

More after the break.

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Weary down to the bone

That was a very unpleasant trip to the kitchen.

The minute I got up from the computer, I knew I was in trouble. I was instantly as tired and sore as I usually am when I come back from the kitchen.

This did not bode well.

From then on, it was a real battle just to get to the kitchen and do stuff. I was lurching around like I was on a ship in rough seas, and for once it was not due to being dizzy, it was due to being so very weary.

And there was no warning. I felt fine till I got up. Even that burning in my upper leg was gone. As far as I know, I was 5 by 5.

But the second the muscles were carrying my weight, I was in pain.

Ain’t that a fucking peach.

Obviously this worries me. I have already been worried that I have hit the end of my “good times” and from now on things are going to get a lot worse really fast.

I’m probably just overreacting. But maybe not.

Maybe it’s just that the heat is wearing me down and I have not being hydrating aggressively enough so I am dehydrated and depleted too.

I bet my electrolytes are so out of whack that they have entered the long theorized state of negative whack.

Spooky, isn’t it?

Knowing me, by this time Friday I will have put this current crisis behind me completely and have moved on to the next thing that I think means I am about to frigging die.

But of course I’m not about to die.

I haven’t had a long, lingering, horrifying, debilitating, and humiliating descent into being too weak to even breathe on my own any more yet.

So as long as I am not immobile and full of tubes, there’s time. I guess.

I sense that there’s something deeply wrong with that entire line of thinking but it’s making me feel better so fuck it.

I am so, as they say in AA, sick and tired of being sick and tired. And I keep blaming myself for not taking care of myself properly, but for the most part I am.

Blood sugar and blood pressure are normal. Only the sleep apnea remains.

Maybe I will try to focus on addressing that.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.