Malaise

A new blogger dash board! Oooooh. Aaaaah. Seems blogspot was bought by Google, I guess? I am Jack's complete lack of surprise. Speaking of Jack's complete lack of surprise, this reminds me of that slow motion pull-away shot in Fight Club where he says when space exploration ramps up it'll be the corporations that name the planets and such.

So.

I'm trying to get back into this writing thing, but it's gonna take a few (hopefully only a few, and hopefully it works) addle-minded rambles like this to get used to the idea again, I think. I've got some ideas where to begin, but I'm not certain even about that.

I've been in a kinda restless/foul mood the last 2 days, and other than the fact that I've not slept well (which is kinda a chicken-and-egg question, really) I have no explanation. I wish I did, because I think it worries LA that maybe I'm somehow troubled about our relationship or such, but I'm not. It's nothing to do with her, or in the least, I don't think it is. But being I can't say exactly what it is I guess technically I can't say with certainty what it isn't. (Cause then, by process of elimination... glad you're following along. =p)

Oh, I think I just insulted my readers.

Oh, I think I just broke the 4th wall.

Shit, I've been writing in stream of consciousness from the beginning.

At this point, I might as well go back and ADD typos and spelling mistakes and such, being I seem to be breaking just about every other rule.

Ok, so.... where was I?

Right. Me. Addle-minded. Want to get back to writing. Malaise of late. Unsure why. Think it's related to returning to working and gaming after a break from both, and with mixed feelings about each. That and those stupid fucking scrotes. I re-read an entry from my journal today about scrotes from the old neighbourhood. I'm living back in the old neighbourhood. These are the next generation of scrotes. And, sadly, like the last generation of scrotes, it's unwise for me to grab them by the scruff of the neck and kick them repeatedly in the sack, as much as they so richly deserve it. A part of me feels certain that, being I'm so much smarter than they are, surely there must be some way to gain the upper hand, and have them fuck off and leave our car/house/sidewalk/visitors/garden/etc alone, for fear of me but I haven't figured out what that clever plan is yet, because my angry addled brain is still filled only with images of sack-kicking and gasoline-dousing.

Meh.

Well, surely angry-crappy-writing > no writing. Right? =/