Few things in life are accidental. Just look down at your hands. It's not some accident that they're meant to be dextrous, allowing us to do a lot of different things. From baking cookies, to driving a car, even typing out this very sentence, nimble fingers allow us to do most anything. If you believe in evolution, they were genetically altered through natural selection over generations and generations to get to this point. Or maybe you believe in creationism and God meant for us to have them. However it came about, the shape of hands enable us to do.
What we do is an entirely whole different matter. What do I do? I write.
"What if you were shaped like these? Or those?"
Indeed, what if we were shaped like a Blogg? Would I be able to type as fast as I can with three bulbous fingers on each hand? Rather, would I even be able to type? This entire page could very well resemble a wall of gibberish, especially if written with current day keyboards that aren't made for Bloggs. Yet, as you read through the posts here, there might be an instance or two (or three or more) where that just might seem the case: the writer has accidentally turned into a Blogg with all the nonsensical gibberish s/he is spouting. Toh-may-toh, toh-mah-toh. I write because I can. Sometimes, because I must. It may not always turn out well, but hey, I'm convinced even the greatest writers can turn into accidental Bloggs sometimes.
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excerpts in italics taken from Dr. Seuss' The Shape of Me and Other Stuff
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