  Like Joe Pesci mulling over his mom’s Red Riding Hood painting, I’m taking a long look like at the world and putting my own spin on things.
&nbsp;Is this an original thing to do?&nbsp; Hardly.&nbsp; &nbsp; But I can’t help but look around.&nbsp; Granted, my view is considerably impeded by my cubicle.&nbsp; So I’m really doing a lot of introspection.&nbsp; Which is what I believe what Pesci was doing in that very underrated scene. &nbsp; &nbsp; Why am I such a hard guy to get along with?&nbsp; &nbsp; Why does my roommate and best friend piss me off when he leaves cans and dirty plates out, when my room looks like a landfill the week after Christmas?&nbsp; &nbsp; Why have I only cared about five women in the last four years?&nbsp; &nbsp; Why have I met all of them on the Internet?
&nbsp; Why have none of the five women I’ve slept with in the last four years been any of the ones I’ve cared about? &nbsp; Why did I meet all of them on the Internet? &nbsp; Am I losing touch with reality? &nbsp; Do I care about my job too much?
&nbsp; Then why do I feel like showering every evening when I cease my soulless desk-jockeying?&nbsp; &nbsp; Do I care about writing too much? &nbsp; Then why haven’t I ever spent an entire eight hour day working on a piece? &nbsp; Ever! &nbsp; And I’m borderline professional, people!&nbsp; Been published in newspapers and magazines and shit! &nbsp; Whatever.&nbsp; &nbsp; I’m done.&nbsp; &nbsp; Faris still wants to say something, but I gotta get a few posts up first.&nbsp; Hey, it’s my goddamn blog.&nbsp; 
