It's Sunday evening, I'm curled up on the couch with my belly full of Dominos, watching the Giants/Packers game, with the lights from the Christmas tree reflecting off the laptop screen and the scent of fake pine in the air.
I haven't blogged in more than two weeks and haven't really missed it. I can be crazy self-involved -- rarely on purpose, I swear -- but sometimes I just need a break from "I." Sometimes I don't want people to ask me how I am, don't want to have to talk about my weekend, don't want to have to talk about my life at all. Honestly, as sick as you are about hearing about me, I promise that I am, too.
I'm taking a personal essay class -- which may be another reason I'm sick of myself -- and in one guy's essay he pointed out that when typing, in order to select the "I" key, you use your middle finger. So, basically, you're giving the finger every time you type "I."
There really is no point to this post because we all know I'll soon get back to posting about the mundane details of my life supplemented with poorly lit iPhone photos. While giving myself the finger in the process.
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