You beckon, and you call; I’ll just ignore you.

I don’t like being at your beck and call. Yes, you. And by you, I mean everyone. Everyone, and everyone’s mother. Yes Eve, I’m talking about you.

I’m becoming more and more like my father, who says that if you call him and he doesn’t answer, you had better leave a voice mail because otherwise he isn’t going to call you back. He never even wanted a cell phone. Didn’t want people to be able to reach him so easily. I think he was much happier with his old pager.

Used to be I was a textaholic. You could count on me texting back, almost always. More recently, I treat texting with a much more laid back approach. If I get back to you right away, it’s by my own choice, or it was a matter that needed to be addressed immediately. I understand that, I do. But I may not respond if wasn’t anything urgent (and let’s be realistic, even if it was, my phone may have died or killed itself. It does that sometimes.)

And . . . and . . .

I forgot.

I really need to stop doing that. I know what you’re thinking, and it goes something like,

“”Well, my days of not taking you seriously are certainly comin’ to a middle.””

Sometimes ridiculous things do happen.

Write a second blog within 24 hours of my first? That’s been unheard of since… since… since I used to actually keep a regularly updated blog.

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

So ridiculous, I’m considering calling it a night and quitting now.

But I’m not a quitter! A serial procrastinator, yes, a good one at that. But a quitter? Oh, never. At least not today. And by today, I mean the two hours of today that have actually passed. I may have to become a quitter later in the day, if my attention span cannot manage something.

Does it count as quitting if I don’t even realize I have quit something? For example, I’ll be at work, separating paper doilies, and all of a sudden, I’m rearranging bagels, and never go back to the doilies.

Actually, bad example, because I’ve taken a weird liking to separating doilies. We need about 10 a night for the next day’s display, and I normally do about 30. I prefer that to actually putting them out at the end of the night, because I can never get the hang of the bakery schematic before either I switch to a different store (Florida vs. Chicago) or they change it, like they did last week.

To be honest, I prefer the store in Florida. We keep things in places that make sense there. Here, our storage is all amok.

I really like decent storage. I could talk about the storage in my room… but I think I made my point about my attention span by now.

So is it really quitting if my bored subconscious is to blame? I say no. And to be  honest, I’m getting this crazy feeling from my subconscious right now that boredom is setting in, and any moment now I might get distracted and start doing something else. However, it would be way too cheesy for me to demonstrate by just breaking off the senten

Dear Diary,

Have I told you yet about this boy? He’s…

Oh, wait.

Wrong blog.

I have several blogs out there, blowing around the blogosphere. There’s my Xanga, a world its own, the link to which I give out sparingly. It’s not private, but I keep it semi-private for my sanity. No, Spencer Smith, I don’t want to give a link to it to the Alumni department. Thank you, very much.

Then there’s a super secret private personal one on Blogspot. It’s super secret, so there’s no sense in discussing it.

But a blog to share with the general public? Confounding thought. Can I even do that? Is that even possible?

Perhaps. So here’s to trying everything at least once.

“Dear diary: Today I was pompous and my sister was crazy… Today we were kidnapped
by hill folk, never to be seen again. It was the best day ever.”

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