10:23 a.m. - 2007-08-07
I joined Amnesty Intl, and all I got was this lousy tee shirt
Hey, I'm actually writing something! Are you shocked? But hey, look - I have an excuse. Aside from being lazy along the usual lines, I've also been a bit flummoxed by the whole blog thang lately. Quid pro quo, I know I should have been aware of this and all but honestly, it's hard to decide how to frame things for this format sometimes. What I want is for this to be interesting to people who might know me and entertaining for those who (thanking their lucky stars) do not. I'd also like to protect the privacy of those who might find themselves as players in some of my stories, but I don't want to alter, inflate or otherwise distort the truth. So sometimes I'm not entirely certain where to begin. Also, my week last week was notable mostly in its exceeding boringness. (Although, I have to make peace with the idea that no one is constantly spouting interestingitude. And if they are, they're probably borrowing heavily from the land of make-believe. Lalala! Not listening! I refuse to accept that I might not be interesting!) If I were feeling really galvanized, here's where I would launch into an essay detailing, "Why People Blog." Therein I would self-analyze and probably come to the conclusion that, like most things other than criticizing others, I am ill-suited to blog. Or maybe not. But as I said way back at the beginning of the paragraph, motivation is low. It was high last week. Then down this week. Conclusion being that my resting level of motivation is wholly inconsistent. If I were to graph it, it would somewhat resemble this: VvVvVvVvVv.
In an effort to instill some kind of artificial, hackneyed framework here, I'm going to conclude each post with a confession or old story. (A decision that virtually insures limited posting. Haha, KIDDING!) Confession #1: I joined Amnesty International for the cool black tee shirt in the 9th grade. Which, incidentally, was
NOT free. At the time, I was also kind of fascinated by the collective persona projected by high school Amnesty International members. A persona mostly smelling of "patchouli."
In other news, I seem to have tweaked some deep seated muscle in the inner thigh of my left leg getting out of bed the other morning. Yes, quite the athlete I am. It's not even that it happens to be particularly painful; it just tends to stiffen up after I sit for a while (which is like my ENTIRE DAY, cube jockey that i am,) which makes me kind of stagger around ungainly upon rising. I've been telling people that I just leap out of bed with such enthusiasm that it's no real surprise that this happened eventually. I swear, if it's not ONE thing, it's another. One day, it's my rusty old ass, the next I pull a groin thrusting myself out of bed.
