You know what I just realized? I have no memory of my past. I try to look back any stretch of time and I can vaguely remember some people, bits of ideas, but otherwise nothing. I also have no real personality that can think of. While Man can never step back and analyze himself, it's more than a matter of self-awareness at this point. I can't get past a fucking Mental Fog of the Ages, and it's starting to puzzle me.

Like a jigsaw, actually; I once had this really hard puzzle to complete as a child, and I went towards the task with zest 'n' zeal. However, I soon found a sort of mystery: some pieces of the puzzle seemed to be missing. I couldn't be sure, because it was huge (relatively) and I wouldn't be able to really know until I ran out of pieces. I didn't want to waste time on the actual puzzle were it incomplete, since it just doesn't feel right to make a puzzle you already know you can't complete. So I left it. It's sitting there somewhere to this day. However, I'm way too upbeat to let my own metaphors bring me down.

Tommorrow: more needless description of my void of personality, driven by macabre curiosity.

I had three hours of sleep last night. This will not be a coherent post. When I go to home, I believe I will partake in a Tylenol Goddamned PM™ endorsed Siesta. Because I ache.

Anyway, I now cow sow pow mow show row bow wow. Why must sleep be eternally out of reach?

Now (I think) you'll be able to e-mail me. Woo-hoo.

Bah. My throat. My list of minor ailments goes on.

I now have a CD burner.

Blarg.

I have nothing to say. Leave!

Pain/sleep/acetocylic-acid monologue time!

Shoulder hurts. Blah blah blah PAIN blah SUFFERING blarg blah blah TYLENOL PM.

My birthday is coming up. I don't know if that has any implications on anything whatsoever.

Pain.

I want to learn how to lockpick. Lockpick lockpick. I'm not sure, but it's for one of four reasons:
1. It's a useful skill to have.
2. I think that I am James Bond.
3. I am sleepy and pain.
4. I think it will make me cool and give me immense sexual appeal.
When I think about it, it's probably a mix of all of them. Crazy.

And the pain/sleep/acetocylic-acid monologue comes to an end. I will now fall asleep on my couch because of my friend Tylenol Goddamned PM™. Stupid pain.

Yadda yadda yadda country music. That's what it's all about: Country. Country music. I have taken a likin' to it, and I'm not sure how. Perhaps it's a good thing that I have the ability to ignore the fact that I'm from 'way up nawth' and just take a fancy to music from below the country equator. Then again, maybe I'm a goddamn idiot.

Blah blah blah blah maybe blarg I'll start blah on a new project (i.e. old one I never finished) (blah). Why not?

So I think that the approximate mental dialogue leading up to this was "Yadda yadda new direction blah new blah paradigm. Blah answers blarg." In a more coherent reflection on the existence of reality: Gonna get me a CD Burner, gonna burn things. Gonna burn gonna burn gonna burn burn burn. Anyway, "FIRST POST". Let's wait for the second post for anything interesting to be said. Burn. That's a command.