An Elephant of One's Own

 Dear Blog, sorry I haven´t really "been here for you" lately. I'll be brutally honest: Twitter is more fun than you, as well as younger and sexier. It's more fun because on Twitter there is a reasonable expectation that anything you write will be read by at least three people, which isn't a lot but it's three more readers than you are likely to get for anything posted here, let´s be frank. Admittedly, Twitter does offer a perverse system of incentives that Blogger doesn't.  While any blog post of mine is destined to get 0 views regardless of whether it is (comparatively) well written or absolute crap, I have long since discovered that on Twitter, likes are inversely proportional to quality, such that anything cogent or profound will inevitably get 0 likes whereas a stupid, frivolous throwaway remark will get 3 likes, and if it's exceptionally poorly expressed the number may even rise to 15 or 20. So, like a nicotine addict, you end up carefully regula...

Found this in "drafts". Posting as is, unfinished, with abrupt ending mid-bullet-point, since it´s unlikely I´ll ever have an incentive to finish writing a post that is likely to be read by nobody at all. The question of why I continue to post stuff that, unfinished or not, nobody reads, is one that undoubtedly deserves its own unfinished discussion further down the line. Ahem. "Sorry, I don´t hate anyone"  (Not even myself, these days. Haven't the energy.) I've talked about hate elsewhere. For me, it's an exotic emotion, so rare than when it bubbles up momentarily (usually a few metres away from a Ford Explorer driver) I want to hang on to it, to calm it down and study it before it wriggles free and escapes.  But it never lasts longer than a few minutes; and I can honestly and thoughtfully say I have never acted or spoken under its influence (other than perhaps accelerating a bit faster than a careful driver would). Consequently, I find it hard to tak...