It’s true. After all my chatter about compulsive behavior, the cleaning and straightening and tidying, I’ve decided to disclose my secret life as a hoarder. Sue me, I’m full of contradictions. The disarray I find so distasteful in the physical world I seek in the cerebral realm. My head is packed to the rafters with tall, towering stacks of information, drawers overflow with statistics, cupboards and shelves groan under the weight of data (datum is the proper singular form to be used when a single piece of information is referred to).
It’s a flipping disaster up there — cobwebs and Christmas ornaments, mice, doll shoes. I’ve seen more orderly landfills, but it’s my favorite place in the visible universe (which is some 15 billion light-years across and has 2,000 billion-billion suns). Yet, nowhere in this vast, ginormous wonderland of trivial knowledge, does a usable idea exist. Not an inkling, not a spark, not an aftertaste, nothing. So I’ve decided to unleash a data dump rather than the usual, ahem, thoughtful discussion.
Don’t bother looking for a pattern or logic, there is none. This is nothing more than a cheap attempt to lure readers, pure and simple. I won’t pretend it’s worthwhile or even interesting, but it is new content. And that’s what counts; I have no shame. If that comes as news to you, well …
Welcome to Whirly’s Playhouse:
My apologies for tricking you into visiting. Lively discourse has suffered a number of setbacks lately.
copyright © 2018 the whirly girl