The invisible man

Ever wish you were invisible? You'd be the proverbial fly on the wall. You'd know everything that everyone is up to. Let me tell you, it's not all that it's cracked up to be. I am the invisible man. I have precognition visions that often come true. I'd like to tell her everything I see, but when it will hurt I have to keep my mouth shut. I have to just let this scene play out. I've always said that I love everything about her, that her past accomplishments as well as mistakes made up who she is. I guess that means that these current events are just as important. Tomorrow they will become the past. They will shape and mold her, and I will inevitably love her even more.

As I was saying, being invisible has it's drawbacks. My potential is never noticed. My personality is very complex, and it can change with it's surroundings. But, that goes unnoticed as well. I have a heart of gold. It's in the right place, and is everything she wants in a man. However, it doesn't shine like the sun, as it should. Perhaps it's overlooked because I wear it on my sleeve. Maybe it's not as pure as I believe. I suppose that my efforts are sometimes selfish, but isn't everyone? The perfect balance should come from selfishness, and selflessness alike. I wish that I could exhibit the latter a little better. Perhaps then, my flesh will come to light.

What, me blogging?

As suggested by someone important in my life, here I am blogging. For years I've resisted the temptation of joining the masses in the blogging frenzy that has plagued the world. I've always considered the "blog" to be just some sort of new-fangled, fancy buzz word to replace the old-fashioned, "pen and paper" journal. Nor, did I ever have anything to say, or at least I thought I didn't until recently.

I've always wanted to be a writer. I suppose that's fitting, since I've been told by my mother many times that I was an early reader. Now, there really isn't much from my childhood that I can remember, but that's another story. What I do remember, though, is that I was never content to check out books from the library. You'd never know it by the high stacks of books I would end up leaving with. What I really mean is that I always viewed books as a treasure to be owned. I never wanted to return them in the two weeks or so that was required from "borrowing" them. I suppose that's why I have such a hard time getting these things back to the library on time today. So, in an effort to actually become a writer, and by the suggestion of one Cynthia J, here I sit writing nonsense to get the ball rolling.

I have to make clear on one thing before embarking on this journey of psychotic thoughts. I am not stealing this title, nor am I plagiarizing it. It is a tribute to my dear friend Cynthia Glass, the artist, not the doctor. It is a song from her infamous album, Witchball. I'll promote it if she wishes. For now, please enjoy my nonsense words. Have fun reading, and don't take them too seriously, after all it's "Nothing Monumental".