June 20, 2012

  • My work environment

    has been crushing any sort of creativity and desire to write out of my bloodstream. 

    While I do have the desire to come home and jot down some entertaining entry about my life because, as most of you know, even the most mundane existence composed of droll tasks can be made amusing to read about with the proper presentation, I find myself having nothing to really say or at the very least, having no inspiration to present it in an interesting manner.

    Despite my previous statement that anything can be fun to discuss, even now, it seems to take a very large effort (almost forced) to make myself write in a manner that doesn't put you all to sleep (And my greatest fear is that even with my attempts focused on writing sexy to keep all you hornballs lusting after my every word, the reality is that I am actually coming off with as much sexual appeal as a toilet bowl full of shit and vomit; though I am sure there are a significant number of you who would be quite turned on by that, you are unfortunately not part of my target audience, but I still cherish you all and your mischievous excrement loving ways.)

    My job is extremely boring (So boring infact, that everyone I work with constantly asks me, "Are you bored yet?" almost like they're waiting for me to crack and admit that the initial passion I had when I started has long ago faded and died like my brief interest in bottle caps).

    While the job is KIND of technical, it's miserably repetitive in nature because the work doesn't hold much utility since I am essentially doing the same task over and over in a different way (Some here would poetically parallel what I'm saying to a game of chess in how each game is unique but similar; I on the other hand, will parallel my job to sitting on the toilet and taking a dump. While each dump varies in shape, size, color, consistency, and smell, it is ultimately, fundamentally, the same act of taking a dump). 

    I understand I've made multiple fail attempts at reviving any sort of interest in this blog for my readers to show my appreciation for you all displaying outstanding loyalty along with a questionable show of taste in writing. I would just like to admit wrong and also defend myself by saying that all of these ideas seemed good at the time because they were from me, but were obviously meant for doom when viewed in retrospect. Like that whole 'I'm going to write about my dreams.' bullshit was fucking hilariously bad. First of all, most of my dreams are bizarre as fuck and telling them to you all is basically granting an open invitation to make observations and judgments on my subconscious which I think is more than I want to deal with.

    Like, what does a dream of prancing through the meadows naked chasing after squirrels and rabbits infer about my inner-self?

    Or perhaps a dream of me flying uncontrollably through the city slamming into walls and bouncing into every which direction?

    Or that ugly, bright, straight fantasy I had of having terminal cancer and having sex with your wife and mother. 

     

    Stop. I was just kidding. I don't want to know. I don't need to be reminded of my painfully obvious character flaws. 

    So anyway, enough of this bullshit. Let's have a talk. Any talk. What do you guys want to talk about? Money? Morals? Happiness? Depression? Existentialism? Nihilism? Religion? Physics? Or perhaps some other detail or area of my life which I have yet to expand on? 

    Or maybe I should just start a themed blog.

    Ironstove: A photoblog of people wearing seatbelts.

    Thoughts?