Heh. Perhaps that’s a bit strong? Probably. But still.
I have lots on my mind. But I just can’t blog about it. It’s stuff I just can’t safely release into the wilds of the interwebs with a clear conscience. Believe me, I would if I could. I even have a couple draft posts just sitting there, mocking me.
I read them, and they say “Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“Oh, it could be bad. It could be very, very bad”, I answer.
But they continue to sit there, smirking. Taunting me. And I know that if I hit that “Publish” button, I would feel a moment of release, of accepting my fate, of peace.
And it would last all of, oh, two seconds.
Because then the internal recriminations would begin, and the repurcussions… Like a huge tsunami breaking over a sunny remote beach. There you are, all happy happy joy joy, at peace with the world; next you’re pulling seaweed out of your teeth, getting knocked in the head with rocks and shells, fish are bitch slapping you in the face with their tail, and you’re treading water like a banshee:
“Oh, crap. You really, really shouldn’t have done that. All hell is gonna break loose. You knew that, why the f*ck did you publish that?!” Etc, etc, etc.
And when the repurcussions of my little post start to hit (and they will. Trust me, they will.):
“Told you you should’nt have published that. Dumbass.”
Mind you, taken alone, those posts are pretty innocuous. Like a little pebble.
A tiny little pebble, that when tossed in a lake, goes KAPOW, because what you didn’t realize is that tiny, innocent little pebble was coated with nitroglycerin. Oops.
The last time I was in a position like this, I hit publish.
This time…I think I’ll close the browser. But right after I publish this post…