Is It Plagiarism When You Steal From Yourself?

A friend of mine (who does not read this blog) has been asking me to write a more detailed email than "hi, how are you?" The exact request was for a novella. So I obliged by writing several screens of random junk. Being an exceptionally lazy slacker, I decided to lift a few paragraphs from my epic epistle on nothing and turn them into a post. So...

I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. My high school dreams of starving writer, Russian anarchist, or computer programmer are all pretty much beyond me now. Ditto on the elementary school kid that wanted to be a doctor. Actually, being a librarian who thinks too much isn't that bad. Eventually I may get off my lazy butt and do more work in philosophy, but until then... life's not so bad.

I drink too much. Caffeine, of course. In fact I usually tell people I run on caffeine and good intentions [editor's note: yeah, I cribbed this line from this blog. I'm lazy I tell ya!] It's more or less true (I also ingest disgusting quantities of sugar, fat and sodium). Oh, and the inside of my nose is sore.

I've been wondering about why certain things become important to us and other things don't. Why do some people like hockey and others don't? Why do I like vampires but not slashers? Why do I like mad scientists but not mad painters? Why is NASCAR an obsession for some, but others think it the most boring thing in all the world? Why do some things click with some of us, and other things with others? People are different. Sure, but why? What causes the differences? If I had a life maybe I'd stop wondering about these kinds of things.

Tangerine were the moths' heads, as fluttering and stuttering they sought the knights' fires, victims of uncertain meds, insect brains filled with lost desires.

White Christmas. Some kind of mythological event. Do we actually think the holidays will be less stressful with eight inches of white powder covering the land? Arctic lands look dead. Maybe that's the peace that White Christmas brings: the peace of the cemetery. Morbid? Not really, just wondering why we associate snow with the birthday of a kid in the Middle East.

Which is scarier: the thought that you may be crazy or the thought that you may be sane? For myself, I usually say I'm more afraid of being crazy. Sometimes I look at my thoughts, though, and hope that I'm not sane (because insanity would explain a whole lot...) The moon is waxing. It should be full around December 5. I guess that's what I'm thankful for. Full moons and internal combustion engines. Oh, and the letter "F" And, of course, my kids, my friends, my family, my acquaintances, the founders of our country, my ancestors, all modern technology (especially indoor plumbing), black and white photography, and Marie Osmond.