The analyst just told me about one of her co-workers who, when a child, was left alone in the bathroom and decided to smear feces all over the walls.
This leads me to an interesting subject: Why do blogs suck?
Or, maybe this is better phrased- why do you think I care if you think fall is the season of reflection and change, if you dream of a better life someplace in the vast universe, a future unknown, uncertain, but calling to you from the hills and the trees, whispering your name in the darkness of your soul, where mingled amongst the deepest memories, feelings of psycho-babble bullshit and psuedo-intellectualism burst forth into the internet like a terrible fart on the bus.
I don't care. Honestly, I would rather read about that time that you got super drunk at that frat party, gave a stranger a purple nurple, and puked all over your favorite Abercrombie sweater- while your boyfriend was wearing it in some strange kinky roll reversal shit. Punk Rock! Awesome! Better than those fake 'it happened to me' stories in Cosmo!
Back to the argument:
Obviously, we all go through things and need to talk about them. However- we do not need to publish these things, unless we happen to be extraordinarily talented (think David Sedaris) or absolutely friendless (think Unabomber). This makes me wonder if we, and by that I mean people everywhere, are either extreme egomaniacs, or terribly alone and lonely.
I am proud to say, in a year or so of blogging, I think I have only ever written one, maybe two "emotional", "open", "sharing means caring" kind of entries. This is because even I know that the only person who finds that sort of drivel interesting is my therapist, mainly because she spent a lot of time in school learning how to spend the rest of her life getting paid to find that kind of crap interesting.
[I really do love my therapist, actually. What a great person. "Center, you don't have to protect people from yourself." Blew my mind. Totally just shifted my entire paradigm.]
Why tell me your deepest darkest secrets? I mean, tell me your deepest darkest secrets, because thats the juicy stuff, but leave the theoretical explanations out of it. Or, if all your deepest, darkest secrets are nothing but deep and insightful commentaries on human nature and the secret of life, then start a photo-blog so I can make fun of your pretentious attempts at "Art". But ke-rist, stop posting and publishing it.
-- "And for my true feelings on the subject, go read my blog"-- is just the pits.
The dude who told the Analyst about smearing feces obviously does not walk around thinking he is the deepest, most intelligent person on this planet. The dude who smeared feces recognizes the fact that no matter what his mind may think, produce, or create- as talented or special as it all may be- at one point in his life, he actually handled his own shit. Not like, whoa that guy can really handle his shit, man. No- he touched and smeared poop.
Thats fucking smart. And hilarious. He should blog it.