the long and short of it

i told the grand-daddy of blogging that i will be talking about scratching butts today. but that was just me trying to get his attention. you think i'm crazy? i scratched my butt. there. what is there to talk about?? moving on.

i have a theory. and this have nothing to do with butt scratching.

let me ask a question first. why is it that when i write a post with more than 150 words, i'm immediately accused of being long-winded whilst pink pau's can go on for miles and miles and everybody's screaming soooooo cute. sooooo funny. what is this? goes hand in hand with my auntie-dom status, is it? well, i'm offended. just received my third complaint about being long-winded for this quarter. what is it with you people anyway?

this is where the theory comes in. of course i'm in denial and believes that the unfavourable response has nothing to do with my boring delivery and monotonous topics. i think the fact that the author is a very adorable, sexy and definitely very pretty little girl helps a whole lot. well, in which case, imagine me to be a ...you know, like you know, *chews on chewing gum* a bopping hopping, like you know, teenage queen. shave off those years, and a little bit of fat, from your imagination and suddenly, you won't find me that, you know, tiresome anymore.

there is also the other theory where it has nothing to do with the author but more to do with the readers. my target group seems to fall under the middle aged, blurry eyed uncles who may find long sentences and even longer paragrahs visually, not to mention mentally, challenging. that category lumps those not so old but still very impatient and visually challenged little young boys. well, aunties too i guess but female readers don't seem to like me. i'm neither feminine nor sweet and definitely not patronising enough. i guess it helps if i don't insult my readers either. oops.

so, what is it? i find myself very engaging. see? i don't even bat my eyes, in wild anticipation of my next sentence. i'm delirious with contemplation about what i will spout out next (i myself don't know which direction my thoughts will bring me until my fingers start clicking on the keyboard. i have to fight the multiple personalities raging inside to see whom will gain control).

nevertheless, i write because i like writing. or rather, listening to the sound of my own voice inside my head. (what was that psychiatrist's number again?). bloggers come and go, some killed by the evaporation of their own steam. i am still writing because i like writing. and listening to the sound of my own voice inside my head. where did i hear that before? are we going in circles here? and you are still here......because?