Who Knew?

I haven’t been away from the Internet, I just haven’t come across anything worth posting. Just crossed page 500 of 2666 and loving it, watched Breaking Bad an hour ago and loving that too - both go very well together. I haven’t read a full book in maybe eighteen months, so naturally I bought like fifteen of them for my birthday earlier this month and resolved to finish all of them. It’s a constant struggle of suppressing my intense interest in certain subject matter - like, I haven’t even looked at this yet - just so I can finish a goddamn 900-page book. When I am not reading this book, I’m either watching an episode of television, working, walking four miles home from work, stalking people on Facebook, reading something on the Internet, cooking some sort of vegetable-based food and inevitably burning the cookware in the process, observing my loved ones embarrass themselves in both small and large ways, engaging in half-hearted telephone conversations with friends, and attending gatherings of people with similar interests who are all five years my senior where afterwards I chastise myself over my age-appropriate behavior. What I’m not doing is writing. That’s worrisome.

I haven’t been away from the Internet, I just haven’t come across anything worth posting. Just crossed page 500 of 2666 and loving it, watched Breaking Bad an hour ago and loving that too - both go very well together. I haven’t read a full book in maybe eighteen months, so naturally I bought like fifteen of them for my birthday earlier this month and resolved to finish all of them. It’s a constant struggle of suppressing my intense interest in certain subject matter - like, I haven’t even looked at this yet - just so I can finish a goddamn 900-page book.

When I am not reading this book, I’m either watching an episode of television, working, walking four miles home from work, stalking people on Facebook, reading something on the Internet, cooking some sort of vegetable-based food and inevitably burning the cookware in the process, observing my loved ones embarrass themselves in both small and large ways, engaging in half-hearted telephone conversations with friends, and attending gatherings of people with similar interests who are all five years my senior where afterwards I chastise myself over my age-appropriate behavior.

What I’m not doing is writing. That’s worrisome.

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