Bookmarks

I've gotten a notion that I might be having too many bookmarks, I mean a whole hell of a lot more bookmarks than anyone has any decent reason to. So I checked it out, hopped into my Favorites folder and found that I have currently very nearly 1,200 bookmarks residing in my "Unsorted" folder. Some of these bookmarks end up being recycled and used in the blog, others are links to my various hobbies and perversions. I'm sure a heaping lot of them are dead links. It's not as if I don't go to some of them, even with the 10 or 20 places I go every day to check up on news and forums and blogs I still do a bit of blindly linking myself from that damned unsorted folder pretty regularly. Sometimes I get to play cute Flash games that I've forgotten about, other times I link myself to the various weird sites that I've hooked up with in the past. I'm a shameless internet junkie after all, my productivity would probably skyrocket if I kicked my habit because I've developed an addiction to writing and boldly frothing about whatever topic sits on my fancy at the moment. Right now I could be doing any number of things more important than blogging for instance, I've paintings to finish before the 25th and there's the matter of dinner that I haven't had as well. But I can't leave, or rather I don't want to. Even though intellectually I know that the weekend before Christmas most people are out there spending time with their families and children, aren't at work and won't be updating at the madcap pace that I've come to expect I still wait. I know that it's starvation from contact. My brother came over to have lunch with me this afternoon and it was the first time anyone besides myself had been in the house in almost a month I think. I wonder when I became this hermit, and I wonder if I became the hermit or it was just a natural consequence. I don't recall ever deciding to become a hermit, maybe everyone just moved away? Who knows. The fact is that holidays suck, because I collect things useless and valuable, yet have nothing to show for my life particularly except my collections. I don't have friends much anymore, I have correspondants. I'm poor and I'm losing all those great looks that used to bring hordes of women quivering to their knees in unwanted wimpering orgasms. Yeah, that's what I said: quivering. So, if you're out there and you're sad and pathetic also, or if you're just interested coming over to have a look at my weird bookmarks while I make you quiver...Well Merry Christmas motherfucker, if you know what I mean?