I blame my sister for this. Not that she’s a bad person, I love her in fact. But she’s the one who started all of this with her shit about how I should sign up for facebook and be mainstream and bite the bullet because everyone’s doing it and why am I so reluctant anyway. So instead of doing the laundry, which is still threatening to invade the kitchen after it fully conquers the hallway (I give it another two days, maybe less — I wonder how it will cross the mighty mountain range of dishes and cutlery to reach the borders of the livingroom…), I turned on my laptop and started wandering around the blogosphere like some drunk kitten.
It was like… oh good god it was so tasty. Finding all of these intelligent, witty (WITTY!!!) posts that not only made me want to write again, I mean actually write for godssake, but pointed out repeatedly that I have been blogging ALL OF MY LIFE. Just not as such. I’ve got boxes and boxes and notebooks and folders and scattered pages of the same kinds of stuff that I’ve been reading. Maybe other people will read it, maybe not. Maybe I will invite family and friends, maybe not. Maybe I’ll be less than anonymous, maybe not. But I’ve already walked to the end of the plank, why not just-