I am a terrible blogger. I am sporadic rather than predictable and regular. I have no focus. My posts are often nothing but ego centric ramblings. And that is fine with me. I am what I am.
It is not as if anyone notices anyway. I am fairly sure that my blog sits in some internet closet in the basement of the electronic ether. Locked and the key is missing. My wit and insightful musings out of the mainstream view. And that is fine with me. I write for me first. Anyone who might happen by is okay, but not important. Afterall, this is all about me. Right? I am my number one fan.
It was odd to write that. It felt odd to publicly admit my fascination with myself. I often wonder if my self centered ways are over the top or about normal. I know I am nowhere as keen on myself as some other folks are. I have a friend who calls me regularly from Idaho. He is the stereotype "the world revolves around me" kinda guy. Last week he called and spent 20 minutes filling me in on his latest love problems. He wants to date a new woman but has to break up with the one he has been knocking heels with first. Blah, blah, blah. Anyway fast forward to yesterday. I answer the phone and instead of "Hey, it's Rob. How's it going?"; he starts in with, "I figured out how to deal with it." Since I had my hands full with a bike repair and several customers on the floor, I failed to recognize his voice and asked, "Deal with what and who is this?"
"It's Rob. You know, my lady troubles." Well, the world was revolving around me right then so I cut him off and said, " Great", and hung up.