Torn Up Dog Toys & Dirty Gym Shorts

Yes.  That's right.  It's another blog.  The author just pondered whether utilizing the F-word in the first three sentences of this, the initial post, would make this blog any more successful.  What's a successful blog?  One that isn't wasting space?  Probably.  But it's the Internet.  Isn't it pretty much an infinite span?  Oh wait, but there's still good and bad real estate.  Sorry, future Nobel Laureate who was going to entitle your world-changing blog, "The most honest I have ever been."  Truly, I am sorry for taking up this prime Internet real estate.  (Fake estate?)

I just got up from the floor (more accurately, from the ten dollar Wal-Mart rug on my floor that is covered in chewed-up-dog toy debris, my head having been resting on a pair of dirty gym shorts), grabbed my laptop with a bit of motivation, waded past pictures on Facebook of someone's beautiful children doing something stupidly adorable, dealt with not being able to remember the password to this email account that I created for my fake gay persona, and started a new blog.  Oh, did I mention that I was laying there in my underwear?

Then I just reread what I've written and wondered why the hell I just did all of that.  Honestly.  After all, this is the most honest I've ever been.  Well, not really.  I'm calling myself Graham Lawrence.  That's not my name.  Just the pseudonym I used for a Match.com account that never went anywhere because I wasn't willing to post a picture of myself.  And probably even still wouldn't have gone anywhere (I'm a looker, ladies.)  Oh right, you don't understand what about that last parenthetical was funny.  It was a gay Match.com account, and I'm a man.  Oh, right... it wasn't funny.

For some stupid reason I can't get a thought out of my head that keeps creeping up, as if it were important.  Just to prove my brain wrong on that point, I'm going to expound it to you now... as I was laying on the floor/debris/shorts (florbrisorts), I was staring up at the terrible ceiling of this dark basement bedroom I'm holed up in.  It has a huge area that was clearly finished long after the rest of the ceiling... so it makes me wonder if at some point the floor caved in on a poor tenant of the past, that was laying on his florbrisorts.  See... there, dumb brain.  They agree with me.  It was a totally pointless anecdote, with no real purpose or entertainment value.  A tangent not worth exploring.

So why am I moving my fingers around (expending more energy than I have the rest of the day)?  I think I thought something I was thinking would be worth something.  Now that I'm reading this shit, that seems utterly impossible.  I think I thought this would be my Internet hideout.  Ya know, I'm a kind of gay man who grew up very religious.  So I need my cliche blog to expound my cliche thoughts about how I might be gay, but I feel repressed by my religious guilt.  All that shit.

I'm wondering if I should keep swearing.  I don't do that too often in real life.  Usually only if some idiot cuts me off on the road.  It's kind of stupid that I'm doing it now.  It's as though I'm creating a character for you, even though I meant this blog to be... (wait for it)...

the most honest I have ever been.