I don’t expect any person to sit and read this. I have barely time to write it, so I don’t know who has time to read it. I am not even clear on what the point of this is. Is it an online discussion board? Is it a way to image my life so people think I am living some sort of existence they should envy? I have low confidence that my life is anything above average, and the problems I face are so universal you could find them in your own back pocket. So what am I doing here?

I suppose there is a part of me, a piece bigger than I’d admit in person, that wants a space to be myself in words. I have so many words in my head, so many images, but I have no place to put them. I have no structure for them and no audience. I don’t need an audience, but I need a place to go to write and I need to flirt with the idea that it’s time to put these words outside of myself. I have journaled my whole life and so I have a whole bag, plus a suitcase, plus a box marked ‘x-mas’ filled with books that I have poured myself into, and there I remain. I am forever a 12 year old, a 16 year old, a 21 year old wedged into the pages of those books, and yet I still have words and I have an inkling to start sharing.


I don’t know what it will be. But I may be ready to make peace with that and just start. So if you are reading this, that’s wonderful. I can’t promise anything except some of myself and an effort to be slightly interesting. But even that can be a tall order on the wrong day. Since I am sharing, I hope you will too.

Talking to an online, non-existent audience is maybe one of the most humbling experiences in my life. Makes me feel like drinking.