I don’t have anything to say.
I’ve been hiding from people who’ll make me speak anyways.
…and contemplating whether this poverty of soul is something I should battle to overcome or just live with till it passes. Either way, I’m afraid it doesn’t make me much to be around. Besides that I can’t come up with anything to say but obvious observations or inconsequential questions, I eventually lose patience with other people’s inanities. It’s funny how empty people have a sixth sense for lack of substance in others. People of depth find depth in even puddle-like people (shallow and muddy).
(Living in England you learn that you never know the depth of a puddle till you’ve stepped in it.)
This blog haunts me. Me among others, apparently. Every other day or so I stop by thinking, I have to post something…surely there’s something I can say…say…just say something. Scraping the bottom of the barrel for quality or passion…or cold porridge.
But eventually explaining why you’re not posting becomes more troublesome than just posting. And here we are. We’ll be having marmite on the toast today, children. Jam’s all out.