Blog-ish

The writer of this blog would tell you who she was, but she has so many alter-egos that she can't even keep track, and if she tries to list them out, she's bound to forget one and thus cause great havoc and confusion. To avoid this, the author will hereonout refer to herself as "I" or "me."

-x-

Dangerous things come out of boredom. No, not boredom. Procrastination. When you know you should be writing your NaNo, or doing your homework, or learning how to play Miles Davis tunes on your saxophone... that is when the random urge to start a blog comes out of nowhere.

Because of that pesky, unnecessary urge, and the fact that it's far too easy to hit the "Create a new blog" button, I now have a blog.

The whole thing seems pretty ridiculous though. Writing about your everyday life as though people will care that your lizard pooped yesterday or that your mom is angry because your breakfast bowl is sitting on the kitchen table with a half-inch of sour milk at the bottom.

I don't want to put you through that. So I'll do something worse.

(You still have time to run, you know.)

I'm going to write.

...Ish.

I say "ish" because saying you need to write is like saying you need to eat less chocolate. A widely accepted fact that few people are strong enough to act on.

See, at the beginning of the year, I gave myself a list of weekly writing prompts. Words, actually, like "snow" and "feet." It's now mid-November, and I've done... three.

And I've decided I'm going to take pictures for the words as well.

(Ish.)

Are you running yet?

No?

Awesome. Stick around. Pull up a chair. Click "follow." Eat a snickers bar. Or tell me to get offline and practice the saxophone already.