things I write when my fiance is taking a nap

I just spent the last 30 minutes revamping all of my blogsite just now, only to sit here and have nothing to write. Waste of time? Maybe. Waste of energy? Possibly. Waste of...well, there's nothing else then is there. I suppose that's all we ever truly have, time and energy. If you're wasting both of those, then, well, you're wasting everything. Hell, could I have just wasted everything, the entire essence of myself, on this blog?? Nah, that's my problem, I turn things that should be small into huge, live-changing, all-encompassing ordeals. I always make things so transcendental. 30 minutes on blogger has now turned into some mind-blowing, spiritual epiphany about that which we as humans have to offer to all of existence.

though, neither time nor energy are truly ours to give is it?

I mean, if they were, then we would be able to give it freely to others. But we can't.

The more important question at hand here is, as always, why am I writing. I've figured recently that my life has taken a slightly more public turn as of lately, so I'm much more cognizant of what I write. This isn't a bad thing, it just means that I don't write as freely here as I did in the good ol' glory days of my previous blog(s). So, in turn, where I used to write solely for myself, I suppose now I write for both myself and a vague undefined audience, the likes of which have vague and undefined intentions for reading as far as I know. Some of those intentions may even be ill. That's right, ill intentions. As if they have some sort of ill-intent. Reading right now they are. Probably tax collectors. Trying to figure out if I make more than I say I do. Looking for pictures of me riding around in my 4-acre manmade backyard pool on a dolphin, whose fins are dipped in gold, while sipping on margaritas, with torn leaves of hundred-dollar bills and the rim of the glass coated ever so lightly with cocaine. Well, then, ill-intention tax-collector, I know of your intent, and for that reason, I won't upload that particular photo.

Check, and mate.