What a better way to live than to be in your own bed, surrounded by a nice comforter, with your laptop working through endless pictures of porn. Eh, porn? An image of the perfect multi-tasker: Split windows with various programs running, while the blood-running carbon machine acts as the director and ultimate consumer.
There is a saying that “we are who we are.” Most of the blogs that I read are mainly descriptive, allowing me to peep into someone else’s life. It is as if I am in their shoes, living their lives, inhaling their feelings. I doubt that I’ll ever be as open as my blogger friends. In this age when we all seek recognition of our existance, I shudder at the consequences of having your private life exposed to the endless lurkers. “How much shall I say about myself?” “What if someone catches my nuances?” “Will I become a public figure?” Endless questions that run through my mind during these instances of deciding what to say. In the end, as another blogger friend confided, whatever I am writing is a minute spec of sand in an enless space filled with bytes. We are just writing fiction.
Talking about fiction, I am also reading the biography of John Adams, as authored by David MacCullough. The vain person that is me decided to borrow the large print edition from the library. Like John Adam’s youthful years, I am vain enough not to wear reading glasses even while I am alone reading the book. Maybe there is an expanding market for large print books now that the baby boomers are sliding down the slope of life.
…On that note, better read the book before I fall to zzzzzz