A Sunday Sermon

Dear sisters and brothers in chocolate. Let us go OMMMMM.

Today's topic is our inner buttons. Not the ones straining across our waistcoats or begging to be freed around our waists but the ones that are hidden deep inside us. The ones that hurt like hell when pushed. The ones that say: Pay attention, you fucknozzle. Or something more polite if they are your buttons rather than mine.

I'm wary of my buttons, because I seem to have two types. One type consists of real three-lllama alarms, and I've always been wrong when ignoring them. But the other type sounds just the same, except that it's powered by something in my own life, something that may not have wider applicability, but still something that gives me the fight-or-flee reaction. Or rather, the blog-on-it-without-thinking reaction.

If any of you know of a way to distinguish between these two buttons, pray let me know. Which reminds me of the fact that this is a sermon, so let us pray. Dear powers-that-might-be, thank you for not interfering with our mess too much. Ommmm.

My guess is that an awfully large number of bloggers blog because of their personal inner buttons. This may not be a bad thing at all, but it would most likely be a better thing if we all had therapy on those buttons first. Or at least had some chocolate before grabbing the keyboard. Or if we learned how to be energized by our own experiences rather than becoming sorta paralyzed by them. Sorta, because the mouth never seems to get paralyzed.

Gah. This sermon is going nowhere fast. We might as well finish by remembering the snakes and the nonsnakes and by wishing well to both of them. And now for the chocolate!