dates

I am anti blogging. If something bad happens it makes for a good blog, if nothing happens then somehow we have to make that nothing seem as funny as Seinfeld would. So many people have blogs full of meaningless chatter about their days, but I am afraid I don't wish to do that, nor do I feel like pushing advice or my opinion on anyone (should I have one). Sometimes this is a therapeutic place, where we confide things; fears, prejudices,  angry rants. I want to think no one will read it, so it isn't really a blog. More of a confessional. I hate Christmas and New Year, so fake and superficial. Such a waste of money. But it is still taboo to say it out loud. There can't always be a 'special' feeling at midnight, only the restless ghosts of our younger selves whispering in our ears. Not just memories, they can be controlled and edited; but emotions can creep up on you, knock you over with unexpected toxicity. Everyone has advice for you, but their expectations are a burden; we all have baggage but it is our choice as to whether we use it as luggage, or an accessory. No one will come along and make you happy, or rich or successful, the good guy doesn't always triumph over Evil and we don't ride off into the sunset. We just get older and have to make an effort not to be jaded; and treat our battle scars as lines in a story rather than lines to be erased from our faces. There is no fairy godmother, just a fairly odd bother.