Fuck it

I tried to explain to Liz that I had created an account (or blog, if you will) on Blogger in order to track the blogs of Lia, Gabrielle, Jose and others, but not for the purpose of blogging. It made so much sense to me, while sounding a bit ridiculous, I'm sure. I was, and remain, intrigued by the idea of blogging (though I made fun of Val for blogging just a few days ago... It's possible I was making fun of the way she pronounces "blog," drawing out the "o" sound to create a very satisfying noise. Imagine me sitting in Val's kitchen saying "blog" with a German (?) accent over and over at 3:30am). I eased myself into the idea of blogging by suggesting to Liz that I create a single post explaining that this account (or blog) is here to track other blogs, but now I think I'm blogging.

I'm not entirely committed to the idea of blogging, though I suspect it may be a slippery slope.

I am scared of writing for other people.

I write mostly for myself. Journaling regularly satisfies a certain need that I have to process life onto paper, but I find that writing for myself produces a less creative and less reflective version of my reality. Writing letters and, sometimes, e-mails allows me to explore my thoughts and actions in a more satisfying and more thoughtful way, giving my words and ideas more dimension and life. Maybe I should have been blogging sooner.