I have (almost) completely whored myself out.

I am a complete emotional prostitute. Everything I do or say has one focus. Can I blog about it?

I have found that over the past year and a half that the things I do fall into two distinct categories...

Can I or can't I blog about it? If I can, I am more reactionary, since I wish to continue the story to its logical end and I need an ending. If I cannot blog about it, I tend to let it slide. What's the point if I can't use it for the blog? The Blog Whore.

Since the good stories involve encounters with strangers, they never know that they're being inspirational, which is a shame because I never get to thank them. The Blog Ranger.

They ride into town, do something stupid while engaging in an otherwise innocuous activity and get picked apart like lint from a sweater. If they could only read about themselves, they'd never get over it. I think there'd be a Jerry Springer kind of thing going on if I could arrange that. The White Trash Blog Show.

Sometimes I get a little panic stricken over some unforeseen lack of ideas, as though a day without a post is like a little bit of me died. That's borderline psychotic I know, but sometimes I have to exaggerate a point to make it. It's like a little bit of me farted. Is that better?

So now, here I sit waiting on my next Blog Adventure. I'm like that crocodile guy, except that I'd never mess with a crocodile for the blog. I have my limits. I know that sometime before midnight, a wandering stranger will waddle into my life and cast attention on themselves and make that little gleam come back into my eye. It's Blogging Time.

That's how my brain is working now. Ones and zeroes. On or off. It's pathetic. I need some violin music in here. I don't think you'd want it to be all "ones", because that would probably gross you out. Be thankful that I throw some "zeroes" in there.

You're welcome.