You should know that I’ve been inconsistently blogging for twelve years. I can’t count how many different blogs I’ve started because I don’t remember them all. I’ve also journaled on and off ever since I learned to write. I don’t love to write. But I do love to learn about myself and to record how I feel.
This is just another blog, by another person. And yet. And yet, I feel different. It seems to me that every thought that my brain produces is developed in a slightly warped way. But don’t we all? Maybe, maybe not.
Being here, live, online, in public, is weird. But I’m going to be okay with that.
I have a terrible memory. You will believe that in time. The title of this blog’s inaugural post is one of the only lines that I remember distinctly from a very wonderful book called Babbitt, which was written by Sinclair Lewis, which I finished reading only a month or two ago, although I also can’t even remember exactly when I finished it or what I was wearing that day. But when one thing rises to the top of my mind (like using that line as the title of this post), and I am unable to shake it enough to think of anything else, I just go with it.
Soon I’ll explain the meaning behind the name of this blog (another thing I just went with), the reason why I am an inconsistent writer and blogger, and almost everything else, because I want to, and I don’t want to give up this time.
I will write when I can. I will write what I want to. It might be weird. You will probably like it. I will not derive as much enjoyment out of it as you will. I promise it won’t always be like this. Are we going to be best friends?