I used to write almost every day. Iam not quite sure what happened. Perhaps life happened. Itas a funny thing a life a isnat it. John Lennon is famously supposed to have said alife is what happens while youare making other plansa. I think he was probably right.
Iam never definite about anything any more. Everything is probably, or might, or possible, or maybe. Never definitely. Nothing ever is a it always might be.
Not having an opinion or an answer is another way of putting off making a decision until tomorrow. One of my friends made me laugh one day a talking about debts.
Letas call him Jim (not his real name). Jim maintained that things he might buy today that he cannot afford are not his problem at all a they are a problem for afuture Jima. He then paused thoughtfully, before confidently stating af*ck that guya.
I sometimes wish I was a bit more carefree a a bit less thoughtful a that I worried less a that I worried about what others think a little less. I guess we are the way we are though a and trying to be any different would change that somehow a and most people would look straight through any sort of act (or at least the people I count as friends would a or I would at least like to think so) and wonder why weare behaving strangely.
Anyway.
What was this post going to be about? Perhaps it wasnat going to be about anything. Or maybe it was. Who knows (said in my best Tom Baker conspiratorial whisper, while tapping the side of my nose with my finger).
Who knows indeed.