Do I know you?

It's been a while. And after I made that big deal about coming here to write more often as a way of unifying my mind and body and hands, and all that shit. Well, it just shows you how unreliable I am and how no one should take my weezy self-improvement resolutions too seriously. I really am the worst type of hypocrite. Spouting off about all that personal strength and struggle to achieve and then I lay around in bed until after ten in the morning. I am filled with self disgust and remorse.

Let's get on with it. I'm here, so let's go. After all that, I don't want to make you think I have anything of worth to set down here. I would, however, like to spend this time avoiding cliche and my long list of overused, meaningless words. I'm not talking about "just," although I hope to God I will never return to that level of self important ignorance.

Today, I'm speaking about "really." It is my new bugaboo. Last night I woke in the cold sweat of existential panic as I realized that I could write a 70 word paragraph and used the word "really" 44 times. Even if I had been a * good man otherwise, this truth alone might keep me out of heaven. At least if it's the kind of place where you read. Ever since reading the admonitions of Samuel Clemens about the accepted usage of "very," as in none, I've tried hard to avoid that but unfortunately That means that I've shifted to "really" to sooth the jonesing.

I suppose I should use the rest of his advise and substitute "damned" for all instances of either proposed word. But I lack the editor, externally, that would replace them all and so I should really just learn to write correctly the first time.

Enough. I must face the demons that await me in the rest of my list.

I do notice that Smudge has a lot of dandruff. I hope that doesn't mean that his kidneys are getting worse. I resolve to take him in for a spa day somewhere nice this spring. I swear!

More later,


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