Inflections: what do I mean?

What do I know?

I have taken the next step in the navel gazing. Years and years I spottily followed an old classmate's blog. You couldn't stop him from talking, so his blog was not surprising in the least. Where does he find the a) time? b) time to be interested? c) insatiable curosity, even at almost-40?

What do I know?

A review of my old-fashioned pen to paper writing reminds me that I only seemed capable of writing the worst, most depressing stuff. What do I do? Mundane stuff, gaze at my navel, rage at stupidity, bowl (see The Illuminator), question information.

What do I know?

The sun is the brightest star in the sky; people do not always want to hear every detail of your latest medical treatment; Michael Jackson is a colossal waste of skin, real or synthetic.

I am going to take advantage of all the practice I have had over the last two decades with the keyboard and maybe generate something at least one other person would like to read.

What do you think?