The last few paragraphs might be worth reading, but I wouldn't get your hopes up

I decided I should blog more often. Sadly, I didn't decide what about. So, unless you have something better to do (I feel sure that you must; but apparently I don't, so I'm not going to presume), you'll just have to read along as - like some kind of curiously specific confectionery junkie in an understocked newsagents - I flail around, desperately, in search of a topic.

[Pauses a second for tumbleweed to go about its business].

Judging by that slightly tortured simile, your reading may not be entirely without pain. Or at least empathy for the plight of innocent similes, unwillingly conscripted into this mess. I'd apologise, but, frankly, if you're going to get sentimental about mere figures of speech, you're going to need to toughen up in this world, and fast. And receiving easy apologies from me certainly isn't going to do anything for your sense of realistic expectations.

Anyway, why should I? I mean, you don't have to read this; I, on the other hand, have to write it, and no-one's going to apologise to me for that, are they? No-one ever apologises to the author for what he's produced. No-one ever said to Joesph Heller: "Closing Time had lots of good moments, but overall was somewhat sprawling and oddly unsatisfying. Sorry about that." Did they? Most unfair, I think. After all, I'm sure he set out with good intentions. And didn't so many of us get to the end of Catch-22 wanting more of Yossarian, Milo Minderbinder, et al?

Of course, I'm not Joseph Heller. So I have even less right to expect apologies for what I write. And you, therefore, have even less right to expect apologies for having read it.

So there.

Of course, if none of you were expecting apologies, I apologise unreservedly.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Nowhere. As good a place as anywhere; though less preferable than somewhere (for a more exact, though less whimsical definition, see a dictionary). Oh well, I guess I could talk about fun stuff I've found on the internet...

If I'd found anything much lately, that is. I haven't. Indeed, last week, I found myself sitting in front of my laptop doing nothing, just staring at Firefox expecting to be entertained. At least ten minutes must have passed before I realised that that was what I'd been doing. "What the Hell are you doing?" I thought to myself, "You waste enough time without doing stupid things like that," and immediately loaded up FreeCell. Clearly, there is no hope for me.

Oh, I had a dream last night. I don't really remember it, but at some point I saw, handwritten very precisely in black felt-tip pen, near the bottom of a white-painted wall, the words:

PLEASE DO NOT ENTER THIS WALL.
INSIDE, IT IS SMALL
AND SMELLS OF VANILLA.

I found it very pleasing.