The problem about blogging is that it's addictive and while the age old adage that 'too much of anything is always bad' holds true for most things, I can't bring myself to agree that it applies to blogging. Perhaps the only unfortunate effect of blogging is that when you start you want to blog about every little thing which occurs in every minute of the day, even about instances which are in fact so boring and insignificant to the populace in general that reading such will surely make them crack their jaws in a yawn, and yet, very much aware of this, you still cannot bring yourself to stop, nevermind that they fall asleep halfway through the blog you were typing with such earnestness and which you spent practically an hour straining your on eyes just to catch those immensely slippery grammatical errors, and their elusive partners in crime, the infamous typo at large, my most hated adversaries.

No, knowing that your supposed readers are snoring away as you type, you still have to relate the tedious tale about how worried you were about the already manic Monday which seems to unavoidably come about after every weekend, about how you were thisclose to getting into a fistfight and laying a one-two-knockdown whack on a certain bossy and obsessive yet undeniably loveable individual breathing hot breath down your already sweaty nape, and about how horrible the weather is, effectively transforming an allegedly tropical climate sought after by tourists who want to lie on its talcum powder-esque whiter than white beaches with their bikini tops askew into a half decent immitation of the Sahara. No wonder the pirated DVD toting, humanitarian folks who inspire fear in the bigot minded, and who seem to have a soft spot in their hearts for movie loving citizens whose funds are tied to the milkbottle feel perfectly at home. We applaud your efforts at thwarting [-name-deleted-because-some-people-with-dubious-eyesights-claim-he-holds-a-similarity-to-my-husband-lookswise-]'s pitiful efforts at raiding your stalls.

Point proven exactly. Blogs lead us to expose portions of our minds so giddy and dizzying with its barrage of whirling thoughts and ideas that we are actually swept away into an array of run-on sentences which would make our high school English teachers apoplectic with rage. Particular as I am about grammatical perfection to the point of it being a paranoia though, those run-on sentences occupy a very cozy spot in my heart.

I love it, all of it, I can never tell you just how much, the digressions I make, the vagueness I can form into a pinprick so subtle you don't feel it pricking your soul, whether to draw blood or to soothe, depending on whether it's the demon in me you've roused or the well concealed angel, and though I often fight it, claw at it, and shriek from the intensity with which it grips me, the life which makes it necessary for these words to flow.