Hubris or is it the drugs?

Okay, so now I've started and am having second thoughts. How come I don't get second thoughts before other past actions that eventually get me in trouble? Anyway, I know I just posted hours ago but the Vicodin I took for the hip surgery must be wearing out. I've tried to be still so my body wouldn't metabolize it so quickly but what can you do?

I'm pondering whether my blogging is all pride and hubris. After all, what can I write that would be so important that someone would want to read it? Of course I'm forcing my partner to read it but what if that's it? Will I be crestfallen and depressed should my ramblings be totally ignored, my whole delicate facade of self esteem crumbling under the weight of my self doubt and psychotic upbringing? (more on that later, maybe a whole new blog site). Will I need years of self evaluation and soul searching with a therapist with a beard? Hmmmm, I just read that over, seems the Vicodin is still doing it's job, except I do feel the pain of having had read that. Beard?Back to the subject: Worse, what if my musings trigger other similarly disposed individuals to appear and try to contact me? Do I need to know that I'm not alone and not special, like my therapist promised? (more on that later, too) and confirm that I'm, omigosh, common?

I thought of telling all my friends about this blog so they can read and even comment on it. But do I want that? Being relatively anonymous is freeing. I can say things that would upset, freak out, annoy, insult my friends without suffering the consequences. On the other hand, I could write things that would enrich, elevate, astound and invigorate my friends. You're right, who am I kidding, more than likely it would be the former over the later. I do have one friend who already knows of this blog, she's my blogmentor, so feel free to visit her at: http://retiredsyd.typepad.com/ to comment on the menace she has set upon the world or just pity her for having associated with me.

I just got up and hobbled to the facilities to take care of some pressing personal matters and picked up my laptop and realized that I had completely forgotten where the heck I was in writing this. Confirmed: vicodin still in bloodstream, mostly in head. Must sense where needed most.

Oh yes, I was writing about hubris, blogging, getting read or not read, blah, blah, blah. As I recall, there are at least 2 people who will read my blog not accidentally. At least my partner will (I'll make sure of that) but of course retiredSydney will eventually find something else to do, wash her hair, volunteer for jury duty, take up fly fishing, whatever. She's married to a great guy, maybe she can find something to do with him. He doesn't have a blog that I know of so he's got plenty of time.

Actually, writing about hubris in regards to my own writing is hubric in and of itself, isn't it? Writing scads of words strung together to ultimately say nothing at all is pretty prideful as well. Expecting someone to plow through the detritus of my mental machinations (whoa what was that? a vicodin spike?) and come out the far end better for it would be the epitome of hubris. Well, my mother always said if I was going to do something, do it well, and finally I think I've done it. She'd be proud. Of course, she'll never know, she won't get to read this blog, I'm prideful but not crazy.