Oh fuck it, I say.

So, the wife began a blog. And it's pretty damned good, too. But she keeps telling me that I need to have one of these as well... Seriously? Toby write a blog? Or, for that matter, Toby write at all? Sure, if your desire for reading encompasses disjointed, chaotic, spewing forth of mindless(numbing) banter that makes absolutely no sense, than fine. Here I am, now feebly attempting to write a blog for the very first time in my life. Which is somewhat amusing, since I've been here on this stupid internet for very near twenty years now. I've been a net peon since my youngest brother was born....he just started college, if that puts things into better perspective. What shall I feed this blog's first post I wonder? Well, a bit of life history/about me might be entertaining or whatnot, correct?

Sureeeee. Toby.

Born March 28th, 1976. Some lame coastal Canadian city, known as Halifax, Nova Scotia.

I've moved a few times since then.

New York (31 address changes there). Kansas (2 address changes) Vermont (1 address change) Maine (1 address) Nova Scotia (3 address changes) Italy (1 address change).

Getting the point? I've lived a few places.

Here. There. Some other locations. I've liked some (somewhat), and disliked others (a whole lot).

But all this moving about has done a few things, in conjunction with my inability to cope with being around people my entire life. I've gotten to observe a LOT of folks in the natural environments. And this has given me a very unique perspective towards humanity. There's some good out there, yes, however, sadly, most of humanity is selfish, self-absorbed, egocentric, mildly (to completely) narcissistic, full of hate, full of pain and repulsion. The old cliche we've all heard countless times is that no man is an island. I must wholeheartedly disagree with that. From what I have seen, most people thrive on isolation. Being alone while being surrounded by others. Our society as a whole has a completely shitty time communicating with one another.

I'm also a whore for food. Not just food, but food. I love to cook it, eat it, don't really give a shit about savoring it much, I just love, love, love eating. There is some sort of otherworldly joy I get with just consumption of food. But of course, now that I'm fucking fat, I absolutely hate myself pretty much every time I even think about eating, let alone actually partaking in the task.

Well, more about me will come at a later date, I suppose, but for right now, I totally ran out of interest in typing, and alas, it's 2 am, so I should seriously consider going to bed in the next two hours or so, so I can get at least 45 minutes of sleep. Fuck life. I hate my useless sleeping pattern. Good night whoever reads this.