By my calculations you have had a decent enough break from my sad attention grabbing brand of word molesting.
Your eyes should be healed over, the scar tissue will be with you for life sadly, but on the plus side I’m out of my winter hibernation and ready to gift you with my own brand of rage infused idiocy to numb the pain and or heartache which may have been caused by reading my previous entries.
It’s a vicious catch 22 I know.
If you follow any of the random social pages that I’ve linked to the site then, as usual, I’m sorry. Also you will likely have noticed that I’ve been active again for a couple of weeks. Meandering around, taking photos of my boring as shit family life and attempting to make it seem humorous while in reality I’ve been doing lots of shouting at my wife and child, getting them to pose in photo after staged photo so I can trick strangers on the internet into thinking my life is better than theirs.
Which, if I’m correct, is the entire point of social media.
I think I’m winning at it so far but I haven’t reached the final boss yet. I imagine it’s either a blogger for Mama Mia who writes weekly conflicting articles about body shame/acceptance, or a fitspo Instagram account which is some chick in tights with 5 million followers taking daily photos of her arse with life affirming fitspirational captions.
Well bring it on either way because I can flip flop harder than the footwear cacophony of an Australia day parade and I got a pretty decent butt to boot if I’m being shallow.
Might have to shave it though.
Starting off with the social pages felt like a decent way to ease back into being a person who loudly overshares on the internet without putting in too much effort or causing me too much pain.
Just the tip, as they say.
Gods only know why I feel the urge to start doing this again when I’m honestly not sure how much I missed it while away. Especially seeing as trying to write up a blog post over the last few days has made the ‘Tortured artist’ side of me, also known as a petulant 30 something, bubble back up to the surface as I furiously scribbled word after word into a notebook only to slam it shut and fling it across the room then refuse to open up to my wife which results in one of our famous “Silent arguments” Which if you’re curious is absolutely nothing like a silent disco being that there are no headphones or pingers and everyone is having a terrible time.
It IS like a silent disco though in that nobody is taking to anyone.
I do feel though that the problem arises somewhere in the fact that I got to the point where I felt the need to make a grandiose… point, whenever I did a blog post. You know the kind, something where I would wittily bring the whole thing back around full circle and leave the reader sitting in their seat at the end of the whole ordeal stroking either a real or imaginary wizard beard and smirking while mumbling ‘Good show chap, good show.’
Which I have to say is fucking exhausting. I could be using that time to write some non-fiction, or some post-modern essays, or even have a wank or another drink. You know, super important shit!
I mean who has the fucking time these days!?!
So in the spirit of that, I’m likely going to either start making a great deal less sense or perhaps just get really friggin sloppy with the posts. I mean they’ll be constant and you can bet your arse they’ll be a good time to read. But they’re not going to motivate you to get off aforementioned arse and do shit.
I’m going to leave that to the experts like Tony Robbins.
Or that chick with the arse pics on Instagram.
Also, quick shout out to the select few people that came forth and told me they actually like my work and encouraged me to get back into doing what I love. Wasting people’s time by making them read long winded blog posts.
You know who you are. You the real MVPs.
Idris Elba’s character in Pacific Rim.
I’m leaving motivational speeches up to that dude.
That scene friggin rocked man. Totally made me forget the whole ‘Sixty diesel engines per muscle fibre’ bullshit or whatever it was.