Self-evaluation and the like.

I've come here to write this bloody blog thing again and I've concluded that I am a dick. Yes, a dick. "But why?!" you exclaim... well, put simply, what sort of person writes a blog? A quick suggestion would probably be a 'self obsessed egotist with little to do other than to rant her inner most thoughts to complete strangers'... not too far off.

If I were to be honest however, I'd go with a no on that one (the self obsessed egotist bit, the rest is true). I've had this blog for a few months and I daren't really show it to anyone. Mostly it's down to a fear of being mocked, and the fact I know I am quite an Unoriginal. I find this world I live in to be very much a big fan of the whole mocking thing, and unfortunately on a general scale I come from what would otherwise be known as The Kingdom of MockingVille had it not been named England instead. I'm also worried that when people find out what goes on in the synapses, neurons and grey sludge in my skull, they may well just think I'm a lunatic. I'm not ready to admit my lunatic status just yet and so for now this blog will remain a 'secret'. Unless of course you do something crazy like type my name into google, which would in its essence, make you a stalker. I would say that if you are stalking me to at least leave me a comment, but of course that would kill your whole stalking buzz and the moment would be lost for you. I shall live in ignorance. Ignorance is bliss, apparently. Absolute bollocks by the way.

....I've now realised that I've basically managed to write paragraphs about nothing, how typical. Always waffling and never really saying anything of real substance. I tend to find it best to be this way though, as I too often struggle with the problem of when  I have something of substance to say that no one wants to listen and even if they do, I end up getting my 'facts' wrong anyway. This means that if I say nothing of any real substance then no one is intellectually harmed, and minds all over the world cannot be injected with my not-so-knowledgeable, knowledge.

Now I'm back to thinking about why I have been drawn back here, to the place where my strange little thoughts accumulate into paragraphs of fluff. I guess it must be some form of self centered behaviour? But I will both justify and ignore this suggestion by making the comment that wonderful people like Stephen Fry have blogs, and so this must make my blog a lot less shameful. Except for the fact that his contains real substance and mine is just a pitiful waffle of course.

I'm not one of these types who is good at writing you see. Which is, if you know me, really quite shameful. I come from a life dotted with excellence in the English language throughout school and college, and did my first year at uni in the grand subject itself. But, over time, like with most things, my interest waned. And as easy as that, bang goes my vocabulary. My sweet, beautiful and fairly extensive vocabulary. Four years and a fair few alcoholic beverages apparently means you can kiss goodbye to words longer than four letters. These days I feel anything more than a grunt deserves some form of special praise from Countdown fanatics. God knows how I managed to bag a degree. That's a different story.

I'll have to bid you farewell now as I detect I  have most certainly gone into a murky realm from which neither you or myself will come out happy or satisfied. I apologise for wasting your time, and if you have got this far, ruddy well done to you.

 I wonder how long this blog with last before my vanity deletes it. Ok, perhaps the self obsessed egotist bit is true. Perhaps.