Thoughts of a dying hypochondriac

As I find myself overwhelmed by some immense level of stress, caused by my decision to take on a suicidal number of classes and responsibilities, I finding that I'm sure, completely sure, that I must be dying. At least on the verge of death. I may not have any fancy proof or doctor mumbo-jumbo, but I do have a sore stomach, exhaustion, and don't sleep very well. Sure, some might say it's a combination of the aforementioned stress and a changing diet. I prefer to anticipate my imminent demise.

Specifically, I have lived with the constant belief that my appendix is constantly on the verge of bursting. No matter if my stomach feels sore, bruised, shook, or the pain is on my right or left (you never know, organs might switch sides), I take every discomfort as a shocking sign that my body has a ticking time bomb ready to explode. I should know better, I do know better, but I always manage to scare myself, at least for a moment, and think that I'm in mortal danger.

Why do we do this to ourselves? It's not a cry for attention, acting like some deluded character from a Jane Austen book. Much of these hypochondriac tendencies, I think those of many people, are personal foibles and fears, not public spectacles. Maybe we all enjoy the little rush that comes from momentarily facing some (imagined) grave danger, seeing our mortality for it's (somewhat) true nature, and want to feel it however possible. Or maybe we're just a nation of worriers who need something to induce a little personal panic. If the news on televisiton is any indication, the latter is probably more true...

1, 2, 1-2-3-4

First entries are like breaking up, they're hard to do, painful, and quite possibly humiliating and embarrassing to all involved. They're supposed to say something about the writer, but yet not be cliched. Which means you're supposed to do the impossible. What are the options? Basic about me? Boring. Answer a massive list of questions? Too MySpace. Make a list of my favorite 100 things? Most readers will probably get to #23, cute puppies and dressing them up, and either thoroughly tune-out or become a little disturbed.

Which means first entries should be a non-entity, something ignored, treated as if they never existed. Start the blog sixty entries in, even. Refer to content that never existed. That way, not only do you avoid the work of developing a blog, but you also gain instant authority on topics. If anyone asks where the missing posts are, simply act like they're simply too stupid to understand your blog and dismiss their opinions.

Upon reviewing this, it seems I have violated my own advice. I have written a first entry. Welcome to the personal Hell of the creators of the internet: yet another in an endless stream of directionless blogs. Beware all ye who enter here. And bring plenty of tea.