So, this will be my first blog entry for my new blog.

If you are reading this, well, that’s interesting. I’d probably ask myself, “Why?”

I’m not selling anything. I’m not promoting anything. I’m not collecting anything. I’m not trying to convince you, the casual reader, of anything. I don’t profess to possess “the truth,” and I’d be very skeptical of anyone who said that they do.

I am not soliciting feedback, promoting myself, or inviting conversation.

I want nothing, and I need nothing.
Zero expectations, also.

So, why am I here? Why are you here?

I do have intentions, however, or this website wouldn’t exist, right?

“Yeah, so like, what are your intentions?”

This is just a place for me to write.

Down deep in my gut exists this compulsive need to write. It’s been there for as long as I can remember.

My mom kept all of my schoolwork in a box, all divided by school year. I opened that box a while back and looked through some of the stuff. It amazed me.

Some of the things I pulled out were little, crazy essays and books that I had written in the first grade. This wasn’t Pulitzer Prize–worthy material or anything. I was in elementary school. My jokes were lame as hell, and I had trouble following the whole plot.

Somehow, Santa Claus got mixed up with a tribe of “man-eating cannibals” one night, and hilarity ensued.

What impressed me was that, even though the jokes sucked, I was writing my own material.

As my skills developed in later years, I began introducing vomit and poop jokes into a lot of my writing, really trying to fine-tune my audience, I suppose.

I basically had exactly two audience members back then.

One was my teacher, who often scribbled the words “See me” on a lot of my work. The first time she did that, I didn’t know what it meant.

As I was walking out of her class, she stopped me and said, “Hey, I wrote ‘see me’ on your paper. Why didn’t you come see me?”

I said, “Oh! Come see you. See, I didn’t know what ‘see me’ meant. I read that and kind of just looked up at you. You were sitting there behind your desk. I didn’t know I was supposed to come. Now it all makes much more sense.”

My other audience member was my mom.

She scribbled the words, “Ha! Get a load of this!” on a lot of my writing.

Ah. It just dawned on me. That’s probably why I’ve always tried to look for humor in everything.

My teacher might not have been impressed with my work, but my mom was laughing, and that was probably always my goal. The teacher could give me an F if she wanted. If I succeeded in making my mom laugh, I felt like I had a good day at the office.

So there has always been a compulsion inside me to write, as far back as I can remember.

And teachers aside, most of the feedback I’ve gotten over the years has been overwhelmingly positive.

It’s something I enjoy doing, and from what I’ve heard, others enjoy reading what I write, not just my mom.

So that’s it. That’s the whole big deal.

Consider this like a random journal left abandoned on a park bench.

If you find something in it that has value for you, or helps you out, that’s awesome-sauce.
If you don’t find value in it, well, maybe that’s your bus pulling up. “See ya.”

That’s the perfect analogy.

Just a random journal left on a bench that you happened to sit down on.

There’s no name on the cover, so this journal might have been written by a complete lunatic. Keep that in mind.

That’s probably not too far from the truth.

We’re all crazy, aren’t we?
“Yeah, just not all on the same f**king day!”

So that’s what this is. Just a place where I write.

I hope you find some value in it, and that it blesses you.
If not, looks like that might be your bus coming up.

Just leave the journal on the bench.