Trails of dreams...

I've spent over an hour trying to add facebook commenting to this blog.  I followed directions from other blogs.  I read blog.  I input code.  I read blog.  I cursed several times while trying to input code.  I read blog.  I bang head against wall.  In the end there is a code written, so somewhere on my blog there is an imaginary comment box that you can use with your facebook account.  (Still cursing in my head)

What does the internet offer?  A series of illogical explanations describing the patterns of life that are said to bring us to the tip of Maslow's pyramid, where we will experience nothing but euphoria.  Unfortunately, if you've every climbed a pyramid (I haven't by the way, but I could imagine it)  you would arrive at the top drenched in sweat and grateful that the journey's over.  There is no end to the world wide web of half-truths.  Thus, we walk around like zombie's every day trying to consume our way to the top.  Maybe we're only circling pyramids, because we've lost all sense of gravity. I'm getting dizzy just thinking about it.  The words are actually unraveling in my head at this point and spilling onto the screen.  If I could find a reason to sleep I would, but there is a force (not gravity) sucking me into this flat screen in front of me.  

If you're confused at this point you can imagine what I fill like after staring at pages of codes.  It's like looking at a foreign language for the first time y no entiendes nada, las palabras se escriten de manera clara, pero mis ojos no las reconocen.  Let me just give you a moral and we can wrap it up for the night:

All you need to know-  Abraham Maslow had a crappy childhood with psycho parents, that would make all these tight jean wearing emo kids, grateful for their mostly normal parents.  Although when you see a kid so desperate to stand out that he buys jeans out of the little girls' section, it makes you wonder...I'm getting of track again.

So I'm going to pace myself and if I can't figure it out, I'll try later (I'm talking about the comment box again).  I'd rather be content than have the pissed off dialogue, that speaks 3 dialects with 8 different accents, in my head.

Food for thought, eat it up...