Come *on*, Bill.....

Had a second look at those old posts. I suppose it's like forcing yourself to watch Budd Dwyer blow his brains out over and over and over on an ancient VHS tape. It's just grisly. Gruesome. And the act of subjecting yourself to this unpleasantness is, in some vaporous way, harrowingly therapeutic. After it's over you can proudly announce, "I lived through that!"

I've also noticed that these "I looked through the archives today; I'm like 'whooah!'" posts are getting to be a tradition on this blog.

What is with my writing tonight? I am being so unusually sincere. None of the usual dry wit, just very...I dunno, maudlin? A bit corny and cliche, even if entirely heartfelt?

I should cut myself some slack. Snarkiness is way overrated.

By the way, notice the nifty little paradox in the statement: "I don't talk about myself."