this thing
February 06, 2007

It isn�t that I don�t have the time. Let�s face it�if I have time to rack up a score of three quarters of a mill in Cubis2, I have time to scratch out an occasional entry.

And it isn�t that I�ve grown disenchanted with keeping a diary (specifically).

I guess it is this: I am utterly, completely, thoroughly bored with my life. And when it is all I can do to pay the minimum attention to living the damned thing, I just can�t scrape up any enthusiasm for thinking about it, or re-hashing it, or writing it down.

I�ve liked keeping a diary, and I kind of miss it sometimes. But every time I sit down to write an entry, I start thinking about my life and I just say to hell with it. I�m never going to care to read it again, no one else in the world could possibly be interested, and what is the point?

See? There I go. Regardless of the truth of it, that last bit sounds so whiny and boo-hooey that I just hate me. I'm annoyed, and I want me to go away.