This whole blog thing started with me wanting to leave comments on other people's blogs, post some silly links, and tell a story about a mouse. Almost three years later, it's evolved into something else entirely -- a diary of sorts. And I'm often thinking that keeping that diary and making it public is something that might not be the best thing for me, personally and professionally.
Besides, isn't blogging just narcissism meeting the 21st century?
But I need a creative outlet. I need to write, to express myself through the written word. It is who I am, who I always have been. To me, it seems that I am not nearly as eloquent in person -- my witticisms are less witty, my earnesty less earnest, my hopefulness less hopeful, my sadness less sad. I feel the most when I am writing. I find myself crying rivers when I am writing, but am dry-eyed and logical when I am not.
I like the me that feels much better than the me that thinks.
Still, I need to figure some stuff out, and am too vulnerable here right now. Maybe eventually I'll write here again, maybe I won't. Maybe I'll work on that book I keep talking about instead or I'll start keeping a paper journal. Who knows? But, at least for the time being, this space will be dark.