Frogs in winter

I try to convince myself that making a blog entry is a good thing. But I keep coming back to the fact that, no matter what you link to or how interesting your comments are, it's no different than getting a vanity plate for your vehicle. So many clever people in the world; so, so many. So many people, period. Everywhere you look, bumping against each other in the grocery aisles and fighting for the last Dinkly Dan doll every Christmas at Target. Some are nice, some are morbidly self-absorbed, some are evil, and some would constantly argue just what the definition of those words really are. People always have a viewpoint and always have to argue about something. There's always got to be some fucking argument about something. People write books, people fuck, people cut ribbons at ceremonies, people help old people out in the winter, people do etcetera.

Now, I'm not taking the old "what's the point of a blog" route. I don't need to ask anyone that question. I don't care for anyone else's answer. I, because I'm an asshole, would probably spit carefully-worded acrimony at anyone who bothered to tell me what to think of any given situation. I do a lot of thinking. LOTS. I have had all kinds of ideas; ideas of things I need to do creatively or otherwise. But you know what? I have thought about them so much, trying to figure out what will be the upshot of doing those things, following a chain of possibilites that branch out from the center of my actions, that I can't see anything useful out on the periphery of human interaction or personal development that the branches could possibly lead to. You can think too much. I'm not that intelligent in a lot of ways, and I've got no motivation. But still I've thought about things too much. Making a blog entry is not a good idea. Nor is the vanity plate. It stinks of delusion and/or desperation. In my case I am probably both of these things, but make no mistake, no one can afford to take a position of smug superiority relative to me over this fact. Because, and I would assure them if they listened to me, I believe that they are no better off than me.

I know only one useful thing, really, and it's the only thing I care enough about to debate--there's no more hopeful a sound than frogs in winter. You want to know when winter will end? Fuck your doppler radar and your know-it-all technological monster of a world. Listen for the frogs. They are heralds of hope. Spring will follow, and a song will follow with it.