Since, as has already been established in the first entry of this blog, there are literally no readers of this blog I feel safe in writing intensely personal things here. Actually I would write intensely personal things in The Wall Street Journal if they would let me. I have no shame.

However, be that as it may, the truth remains that this sad little blog has absolutely no readers. I don't even PROOFread itt. It just acts as one of the many millions upon millions of blind information dumps that this internet offers us.

Really, I'm a bit ashamed to say, I have nothing intensely personal to say at this time. I am beginning to feel that I am becoming shallow and that all my dreams and aspirations are rooted in my deeply superficial soul. What a bitch that is!

I mean it's not like I want to be an irrational, food guzzling, dick thinking, oaf of a half man. I just am. It's my nature. I'm a neanderthal who is more than half way to a college degree. I feel painfully out of place, because I have no inhibitions socially. I act selfishly at every turn, and on the occasions when I do the right thing by others I bask in my own glory with an ego only an egoist could love.

I'll be twenty two soon, and as far as I know I am normal by most standards. Sure, I'm a little big. I'm 6'3 of lumbering muscle and impossibly uncoordinated hair. Maybe I'm slightly funny. I wish I was more funny. Being funny seems to be my lifes one social aspiration, and I channel all other social needs sexual and otherwise through this. And I will also admit that I am lazy and unorganized, horrible at arithmetic, geography, navigating city grids, and almost every other spatial skill known to man.

But, these outliers aside, I am a normal guy. I like girls. I have a girlfriend who I love. I like food, friends, action movies, songs about men being men, and hard work. I can count on one hand the things I know for sure about women. And I can answer with one syllable the question do I have regrets. Yes.

I regret more and more each day.