Apparently, this is my 101st entry on this blog.
I haven't "blogged" with any kind of regularity for a while. I'm always writing. But it's not always blogs. Sometimes, it's captions for photo albums, or parts of a script, or just some other weird long-term thing I'm working on. At this moment, however, I feel bad that my blogging seems so sparse. I imagine it will be disappointing to whatever set of eyes lands here someday, looking for a more complete account of a human life.
I used to have another blog, on Livejournal. There's a link to it on the side there. It was essentially the same as this blog. I also have a couple of "themed" blogspot blogs that I rarely use, and I used to occasionally blog on MySpace. My favorite kind of blog is one like this, where I just write about whatever I feel like and there's no real theme. But all these blogs came into existence for the same reason. So I could write shit when I wasn't writing, like, fiction. I feel better when I write. My Livejournal specifically is something I started because I was depressed, and it would cheer me up to just write some bullshit. Even if it had nothing to do with what I was sad about. Well, especially if it had nothing to do with what I was sad about.
Dude, why the fuck does my furniture make noise? Every fucking night, when it's really late and very quiet, my bookshelf makes a loud clacking noise. Like it's settling or something. YOU'RE AN INANIMATE FUCKING OBJECT, SHUT THE FUCK UP. Every time this noise happens, my heart skips a beat. I hate that shit. One day, I'm just gonna have an insane futuristic room with all the shelves built into the walls. This will of course be a secret room in a big mansion. Which has its ups and downs. On one hand, if something happens to me in my secret room, rescue workers won't find me and I'll die. But if a bad guy breaks into my home while I'm in it, he won't find me either.
This blog entry took a dark turn.