A Post

A post:
A thing that holds symbols, not signs or things. Not a tree (though it may hold life, represent judgment, give food of sorts, and point toward the king of the universe); made of zeros and ones encoded decoded and encoded once again.

Why am I writing this? I don't know. Just sat down at my computer and thought to myself: it is high time for a post. A post: a thing that holds symbols. . .

I have a laptop on my lap top, just to the left of which sits my wife on whose lap top sits my son. She just asked him, "what are you trying to see, honey" (he is looking intently at something to his right), he grunts back something unasperated or consonated, as if he is trying to pick up something heavy. I cannot write fast enough to keep up with his motion. He is in a hunderd differnt positions as my fingers fly across these crazy keys.

Sarah just asked me to speak what I'm writing because she sees me smiling at this screen. I have read all but this paragraph to her; to her, and not to andrew because he cannot recognize as many words as appear in these sentences.

Our guests are coming now. That means that, unless I want to be absolutely rude (in any culture) I must stop this post.