I was headed out to jog the other night, and as I opened our back door, I braced myself mentally to be confronted by a man standing in our porch. He would be alerted to my presence by the sound of the door- it squeeks terribly- and if he had been waiting for awhile he would have been prepared for me more than I for him had I not braced myself for the surprise of his presence. I think that rather reverses the advantage, doesn't it? My lack of surprise, that is? He certainly wouldn't have expected to be expected.
There was noone there, but the weather has been unseasonably hospitable to jogging early mornings.
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A word-filled blogsite for avid followers of Benjamin Mason's life and times. This does not make us better friends. Try to look presentable while reading it. Do not talk on the phone. If music is playing, make sure it is at a reasonable level. I charge $25 royalty if you wish to print this page to show your friends.
About This Site
These remarks are usually jotted late at night. They are low on spelling accuaracy, facts, proper sentence length variation or natural rhythm of writing. They pose weakly as a way of helping people keep in touch with me, and to a lesser extent, my immediate family. It's unfortunately more a stream of conscious, a habit of expression/response, and meant to be treated only for what it's worth. I will read and appreciate any comments you leave me. Thanks
About Me
- Benjamin
- STP, MN
- A person of terrestrial origin. Born in STP and current resident there of. Part German, part Scandinavian, part English or something, likes to tell people he's Welsh. Married to Jenny Mason, famed housewife/pt Barnes& Nobles employee. 2 children: Idris, 4 1/2. Hits people with swords. Talks a lot. Arken, 3 mos. Large. Talks a lot.
About You
You, a visitor to this site, are in your early 20's to mid 60's, lonely, and looking for some shred of comfort from the convenient, anonymous navigation of the internet; cleaving to the human passions which are reconstituted through the cold hand of technology and spotty warmth of electric current in the form of words, colors, and shapes on a two-dimensional surface. This is an unhealthy substitute for your real life- your real friends and the warmth of the sun. Your flailing, often pathetic migration through cyberspace in search of belonging has caused you to bookmark this page. In spite of your ambivilance toward being rebuked or insulted as you are by reading this, you are drawn toward this abusive relationship by some nonspecific personality problems I don't care to delve into.
Does that sum it up?
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