So, I log into blogger just now, and on the dashboard there's this thing that says I have 1 follower.
What does that mean? Who is stalking me?
And, perhaps more importantly, why aren't there MORE people doing it?
Someone near and dear to me, who also happens to have the good taste to read this blog, mentioned that I haven't had any rants here lately. Seems that this person LIKES it when I get all riled up about some triviality and go off spouting like a surfacing blue whale.
Naturally, I then began to think about what has been pissing me off recently in order that I could provide some kind of rantyness here, because that's the kind of friend I am. I thought, and I thought, then took a break to pee, then thought some more, and came up with this:
Nothing has been pissing me off. Nothing at least that I can blame on anything but nature or other immutable forces. Complain about the weather? What for? Bitch about gas prices? Why bother, when there's nothing to be done about them anyhow, being as major oil companies wouldn't really notice if I stopped buying their product. Rave on about the stupidly insane wars in which we are engaging on the worldwide stage while the nations we've sworn to protect, as well as some others that outright hate us, work to undermine our efforts by means of suicide bombings, treaty-breakings, position reversals, incursions, invasions, kidnappings, beheadings? Been that way since the United States decided to go beyond the boundaries of simple protectionism to become the world's policemen, and so backing off that position is not only inadvisable for the near term but dangerous to boot.
It's not that there's not anything rave about, it's more like the things that are rave-worthy are already being covered by greater minds than mine who also have a larger audience to listen to the rantings. The notion that adding to the din with is noble or worthy of the effort would be like thinking that it's possible to hear a whisper in a middle-school cafeteria at lunchtime; the simple answer is "it's not worth trying."
So have I become more content, or have I given up? Is it worth bunching my undies for things of merit, even if the effort has no possibility of rippling the vast oceans of the world-wide intertubez? Why should I take the time to ramp up a good froth over things that are well beyond my control, that are very likely far beyond my capability to understand (Fed buyout of investment banks, anyone?), or are out of reach of my grasp of implications (all of politics, and the mucky, slanderous nature of it as it's practiced in this country today)? It's certainly not as if anything I would have to say would make any difference at all, and I'm not an able enough debater to turn anyone's mind to whatever point I choose to support, so it's best in the end to leave the big issues alone.
That leaves the little issues as fair game, doesn't it? That leaves the inane, miniscule, niggling little things to get het up about. Oh, sweet relief! There IS a platform on which to build a pyre that will fuel a roiling boil of indignation! There is a crucible into which I can pour my middle-aged ire, hoping to forge an argument built on pissy little details.
Itchy clothes, grating teeth, shopping carts with wobbly wheels, gas pains, spilled milk - these can be the raw materials from which a solid rant can be concocted! Sweet merciful saints of rationalization, I'm saved!!!
But, you know what? I'm simply not in the mood. It's a beautiful day, there's coffee in the pot, and I'm tired out from not ranting. Maybe another day, eh?
Jumping rope is harder than it looks. 10 minutes of that shit is killer hard.
10 minutes done in 30-second bursts with 30-second recovery periods, that is. This old heart can't take much more than that at a time. Isn't that just the most pathetic thing ever?
And thus is born a new obsession.
I'm off to find a sweater to put over my work clothes, then it's off to a fine day in the cube farm for me. Have a good Wednesday, y'all, and don't let the sandworms get you down.