I find it strange, this whole bloging thing.

I mean I read a lot of blogs. Funny, sad, frivolous-there is a type for and about anyone. But where is the line? What do I write? When should I stop?

believe it or not, I am a very private person.

"Bullshit" you say. Alas, I speak truth my small but faithful readership. I am private and solitary and distant. My friends all know it; we all feel it when we are together. It's a strange and unsettling vibe. Most especially because it's my fault. I'm the guy in the dark. It's my arm that remains outstretched like pike against invading infantry.

It's usually my fault, but latter for that.

What really gets to me is the why of bloging. Most especially now that I live with a blogger. A blogger who is a heartbeat away from making a second blog. To hide away the feelings little David can't handle.

Or that's how I feel.

So it begs that question: why bother? I'm no special writer. I respect my readers, I think of them as bloging friends (if there is such a thing). However, I think they would get by without reading this messy concoction of thoughts.

So why do I do it?

I know, I know, I'm repeating myself. Not to mention the fact that I've bloged about these feeling a few times before. All that means is that the question remains unanswered. Creaking in my mind like marbles in the attic.

I think it's rage.

I cage it up and tame it. I want to unleash it, unabridged, in this place. Set it free. Morph my pent up anger into a written scud missile and direct it towards the people who trample on what's left of my patience. Taking what I offer yet still making a fuss over the bullshit they don't like. I should unleash the core version of this, pure and precise in it's conviction, to sing my song of woe.

But I hold back.

So I keep asking the same question and absorbing the silence in answer. That is the sign of the fool. So what?

Just one of my many hats....

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