I have a hard time reading blogs, even the ones that I like. I hate the medium, it feels too much like a cry for attention from the inner twelve year old buried inside all of us. It's not that I have anything against the content, I've read  blogs that I walked away from feeling good for a solid thirty seconds. I still couldn't stand to keep up with them. So I've decided there really isn't a better medium to channel your own derision and since I don't have anything better to do at five-thirty in the morning on a Tuesday, why the hell not. If that offends you, go read some self-help, spiritual bullshit that makes you feel good about yourself and the choices you've made. Chances are you won't find any of that here, but I've been known to change my mind before. The fact that I'm sitting here, writing this instead of anything with substance is a testament to just how disgusted I really am with myself and my life.  But like any other affliction, there's no point in letting it make you unhappy. So you carry on. You don't know why, but you do it anyway.

So here we are, carrying on. Two peas wrapped up in our own defective pods. The only thing we really have in common is that we're the only seed left in our pod. Some of us are wondering if we should even chance germinating, because let's face it, isolation made us who we are and for whatever reason we thrive in it, but that doesn't mean we wish it on our worst enemies, let alone our own offspring. So what do we do? Look for some other isolated asshole that we can relate to or find someone wholesome and see if we can make ourselves small enough to fit in with them?

Then you start to wonder if it was you that sucked all of the life out of the pod to ensure you were the only one that made it. If that's the case, then it's not the pod that was defective, it's you.

What a stupid metaphor.