There was the car accident with my brother. My first taste at an authentic Mediterranean cuisine. The discovery of "Freak and Geeks". These. And about too many other things I can't recall.
Sure. I could dig deep into the depths of my memory, and pull out the fine details of of my moment's emotions. I could travel back in time to tell you a a specific story, and I guarantee it'd be at least half interesting.
It's now stale to me. Perhaps if the events in the last 5 days had been more life changing, or if they were something I couldn't get out of my mind I would be able to write
But. I don't want to to. They'd be new to you, but I wouldn't be able to go to sleep knowing that I fed you stale bread. Readers take the time to read the words of writers, and it should be a writers devotion to write something worth reading. But then again. No matter what happened in the past 5 days I didn't take the time to blog.
I slept. I studied. I played guitar. And several other things in place of writing a blog. The notion even struck my fancy on several occasion as my stream of consciousness exclaimed:
"This would make a great blog!"
But, In 5 days. No blog.
Does this make the inspirational moments not worth writing about? Simply because I was lazy or negligent blogs were never written. Swords in their sheathes that will never spill blood.
Due to the open source of the internet anyone can write a blog. The worthiness of words is striped from the hands of would be editors, and place in the tapping finger tips of the writer. The validity of whether or not something gets published is contingent upon a whim.
"I got off of my Shameless arse to write," said the Vagabond.
5 days though. I mean. I get this feeling whenever something inspirational happens. It's developed over the years to the point where I know that if I sit down and work on the notion something will come of it. A blog. A column. A song. A poem.
I may not know every word. The sense of irony and wit wait for the moment to apply themselves, and sometimes even I laugh at the things that come out of my head.
I surprise myself.
I must think really highly of myself. What a cocky Shameless cur.
A writer can take advantage of the open source publishing capabilities of the internet and technology, in order to self promote a work of literature. They can experience anything, and write whatever the feel like. No matter how technically terrible or asinine. They deem whatever they publish worthy to be read to moment they take the powers of publication into their own hands.
If they can do this. Then I should be able to laugh at my own jokes Shamelessly.
But wait. What if the joke I'm laughing at comes from the original words I wrote, and those original words are part of the occasion where I took advantage of the open source to automatically insinuate that my thoughts are good enough to read.
Not only do I think I'm funny. But I think what I think everyone should know it.
That's not really how it is.
This is all I came up with in 5 days.