So much to share..

but nothing to say. I sometimes have problems writing anything here. It shouldn't be a problem, as there is not obligation for me to ever write anything at all, not officially, but I want to write. I want to keep this here blog thingy up, I want to have a creative(ish) connection to the outer world, that isn't all the photos I post or the stuff I share on Facebook or the stuff I (not all that often or at least not enough of the the stuff I want to be in) act in or or all else that I do so I want to write something. I just do. Something is a big category. It would help so much if I had a topic, or topics, or subjects if that is in any way different to a topic. No it wouldn't, then I'd be complaining about how hard it is to write about a particular thing all the time, or that particular thing, or to have to write about a different particular thing every week or every month of however often my assignments are sent. I'd complain, and I'd maybe write, or I maybe wouldn't. This way is also difficult. I don't have much of a life, there is no single subject that I am enough of an expert on for me to have enough confidence in my knowledge to feel I can write about it. It would feel like pontificating, and to pontificate one must a: have loads of confidence, or b: really know stuff, like lots. I am neither a nor b. I mean, I occasionally jot out something about politics or whatever, but it isn't often. That leaves me, and my life. Life being uneventful, it leaves me, and I don't really like talking about myself. I mean I do, and I do. and I am. That is both like it and do it, and I am engaging in that this very moment, but I don't like sharing too much. Not details, not the inner person not anything. So I end up writing about myself, my feelings, stuff going on but being vague about it. And I tend to just type my thoughts out without stopping to think if it makes sense and I never go back over and edit because I really don't want to go back and realize what a load of drivel I just wrote. So it may be hard to read. As I don't think there's anyone reading and this is all for me, and I don't even bother ever reading it, that matters little. So what am I even whining about? Oh yeah. Turns out it doesn't matter.

The usual

So, nothing to report on, write home about, to immortalize in song or any of that. Just me, here, waiting for one thing or another to work out, doing bits of things here or there, working for the weekend but I can't say anything about that because it's oh so top secret oooh. Not that it's anything important. So, cats still running around, I'm still here in this place, somehow and I have some stuff on the agenda but at this point I'm expecting to all turn into nothing because after about the 67th time, you sense a pattern forming. Just got a fright, thought it was one of our many chickens. See we have several. Some have already been here, roosting for a while, then another came home, roosted and we evicted it, but it might come back. I thought that one had come back. Still could be back, soon. No I'm not going to explain all of that. Well.. life goes on. I wish I had something better or more detailed or microscopically interesting to report on, but there you go.