I remember a time when rarely an evening would pass during which I didn't write here. Tonight, I thought about several topics that might make for a decent ramble or three -- some have been in the mental queue for weeks now -- but why? JP of FP writes of blogging burnout. I can relate, at least to parts of it.

So now I ask, why did I even get back out of bed to write this? And why don't I just stop now, and try to go to sleep. Maybe when the music ends.

Lull.

Earlier this evening, while I was waiting for Yanthor's files to copy, I finished Gaiman's Neverwhere.

In a strange way, the last chapter was perhaps the most perplexingly affective of all. I love how... (highlight text below if you don't mind reading SPOILERS)

Hmmm, maybe if I thought about it a while, I could articulate that last thought a bit better. Or maybe it's better just left unfiltered. No explanation necessary. Whatever.

I often wonder, in my day-to-day life, just how sane I am. I form all sorts of patterns in behavior in thought, based on personal pet theories, stuff I've heard, things I've learned and believe to be verified through experience, but does it all make any sort of cohesive sense?

When considering all my actions together, taken over the course of years -- decades -- the answer is no. The way I've lived makes no sense whatsover. There is no consistency to any of it. Rampant contradictions are everywhere. I find myself now going to great lengths to undo what I made great efforts to achieve back then.

At this point in time, I believe myself to be gradually moving toward becoming more sane.

I cannot even begin to guess what will transpire during the next decade to alter my paradigm. Ten years ago, I had no idea about the truth of where I'd be today. I could have made guesses, but most of them would have been wrong, at least in the areas that matter.

Ok, so I reset the music to keep it going a little longer, but now it's looping back again, so I'll conclude. Quitting while I'm ahead, so to speak.