Blogging to join the bandwagon

Now I've gone and done it! I have a blog. What on earth was I thinking?

I originally started keeping a sort of journal thingy on my laptop a few months ago. Mainly as a place to spew my thoughts without subjecting my poor long suffering friends to any more of my neuroses than absolutely necessary. It became almost like a kind of therapy for me. That place will still be where I write all the stuff that I find hard to admit to myself and impossible to admit to anyone else.

This is the place where I will spew the thoughts that I can subject to others.

I wonder if this is part of my midlife crisis? A red sports car and a blonde 21 year old bimbo would likely be a lot less hastle. Then again, maybe not.

During an almost primate like moment of intimacy recently, I was told that the grey hairs that have begun to sprout from my head are very curly and it was suggested that at some point, my head will look like it is covered in grey pubic hair. I guess the question is, will I wax or shave?

I'm not sure about this getting old business. Dementia aside, do we lose our sense of appropriate behaviour as we get old, or do we just cease to care?

My neighbours are on the old side. The paranoia, I can handle (they live in Fort Knox - more on that another day). The garbage day apparel earlier this week was a bit much. Actually, it really wasn't enough! Particularly before one has managed more than one sip of the morning coffee, but after having consumed an entire piece of toast.

First, we had Mr. Fort Knox come down the stairs sporting nothing more than a pair of shorts and his slippers. Not an attractive look for him. I would have preferred that he add a shirt to the ensemble. Pretty much any shirt provided, it wasn't one of those tank type undershirts.

Mrs. Fort Knox was equally disturbing. While she did at least have a shirt on, the lack of a bra beneath her rather tight tank top may have scarred me for life. For her, I would have suggested she start with a bra and while the concept of a tank top was not entirely bad, something a little less revealing would have been rather less traumatic.

All I can say is thank goodness my teenaged boys weren't up yet. The therapy bills could have been crippling.