a dash of creepy

Posting here is like visiting my old high school or hanging out with a co-worker on the weekend. I’m a little uncomfortable, edgy, unnecessarily cautious, and suspicious of my own motivations. I keep changing the site’s theme, renaming categories, editing posts, deleting some, rewriting others, and filling up my “drafts” folder so that now its count is higher than what’s published. I can compare what I’m doing best to a comment made regarding my step-mother’s redecoration of the family home. “It feels over-decorated and under-lived in.” In other words, a whole lot of neurotic with a dash of creepy.

I’ve been busy doing things I don’t like to talk about, which is unacceptable, as it breaks one of my own (un)tarnished Golden Rule(s).  They’re pretty basic: Don’t do anything I’m ashamed of, anything that will later require an apology, or anything that’ll cost me a little time in jail. Oh, and avoid liars, asshats, lunatics, motherfuckers, bastards, the vindictive, and the mean.  Sounds easy enough, eh?

I’m remembering what I forgot to remind myself to remember.  (This sentence is more painful to think than read, I assure you.)

I miss this space.  I forgot what it meant to me.  I allowed myself to be distracted by things unworthy of my time.  Shit happens.  I’m over it.  As I’ve said once or twice…this pointless space is mine.  I’m okay being a little uncomfortable until I get used to it again.  Because, ultimately, I live a life I don’t mind talking about.