For lack of anything profound.....bacon.

This is what happens when I have nothing to say. And I’m bored. And I have PMS. And I’m craving bacon. This will be my last un-inspired post, I promise. I just wanted to try it out and see what I would say if I had nothing in my head at all. It's an experiment of sorts, so please humor me.

I have recently discovered that having this blog has a downside. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a lot of fun and I am enjoying the writing; something I haven’t done nearly enough of in the past several years. But the reason I haven't written much in years is because I tend to be a private person (pause for the laughter to die down). Seriously, I am. Anything I write just seems so personal. Any poetry I’ve ever written I’ve destroyed (if I didn’t give it to someone, and then wished I could take it back because now it's "out there"). I don’t really have much of an internal filter (case in point: this post). I don’t really understand deception (self or otherwise), and I don’t keep journals or diaries because I would DIE if someone found them and (gasp) read them!

So I’m writing a blog for any and all to read….because? Well, to get over myself of course! And what am I writing about? Why, myself of course! You see the irony here.

To live a healthy lifestyle, have definite goals, and stick with it day after day, whether you write about it or not, requires a whole lot of (in my opinion) "self-enthusiasm" (nicer word for narcissism, which is too strong and negative). You have to be constantly thinking about yourself, and how you look, and how you feel. It's all about you! (or me, in this case). And to be honest, I’m just not that into myself (omg...stop with the laughing already!).

I’ve often joked that I should forget about what’s on the outside, and just work on my personality. I am only half joking. I annoy myself sometimes. Even the sound of my own voice grates on my nerves. I can’t imagine how other people must feel hearing me drone on and on about nothing (I can talk about nothing for hours, just ask Rob). I’m lazy, a know it all, I'm always right, not always nice, not always funny (even when I think I’m hilarious), insensitive at times, (I am learning to be “careful” with what I say around sensitive people because of the aforementioned lack of filter, but it's a challenge). I’m easily annoyed by others, sometimes a loner, a little moody at times, caustic, flammable and poisonous (the last three just popped into my head and this is an experiment in "writing what pops into my head", or "stream of consciousness writing" for all of you English Lit snobs, so I thought I should include them).

The point is – I tire of myself. I bore myself. Believe me, its not just you. I feel your pain (about me). Before this blog I was working on the Buddhist practice of non-self, non-ego; being one with all, not a separate part of it. Um, a few steps back here? How does one balance ego-centrism with non-ego? One doesn’t. But for whatever reason, working on the outside is a whole lot easier than working on the inside sometimes. So I think I’ll take a break from seeking enlightenment and work on my "lightenment" (Ha ha ha God, I'm Hilarious!!!). I just don’t have the energy to do both at the same time, especially today what with my headache, pms and bacon craving.

As long as I’m being narcissistic, I mean "self-enthusiastic", I thought I would impress you with some romantic poetry.

My Love

Why do I feel like without you I’m lost?
But I try to avoid you, at whatever cost?

When I think of a burger, or breakfast or lunch,
with Lettuce and Tomato, I miss you a bunch.

I’ve recently learned that at 30 a slice
I can have you…in moderation…isn’t that nice?

But it’s those friends that you hang with
That make this so hard
Those eggs, that toast, cholesterol and lard.

Why do you run with such a bad crew?
It’s those choices you’ve made that have me so blue.

It's pretty apparent you care nought for my health
Nor my happiness, my future, my dwindling wealth

The sight of you now sends a chill through my gut
With your stalking and clinging 'round my thighs, hips and butt

You must think I’m some easy piece of jerkey
It’s over, I’ve moved on.
My new bacon is turkey.

Don’t call or write.