Not entirely true. The next morning after writing my last post, that's right all of two sentences, I'm thinking about my blog in ways I never have. Just after eating my breakfast is one, and I compare my blog to the works of my colleagues, online and in paper.
Over one year a lot does happen, and a lot of both the meaningless and pivotal. If a blog is a muse, a diary, or a record, where does it lie in literature. This is what I mull over most days. It has no standing in financial terms, though self-recognition of literary aptitude is one thing to take away. (I'm rambling on my keyboard, and if you're reading this you're probably not listening. I don't blame you, so don't let my impulsive brunch-time post bore your intellect.)
I've come across many (some) blogs over the past year and thought of my own, wondering if it is the right time to make an entry about one not involving my discontent for what I'm trying to get my head around.
And so they lived.
That's what I adore about blogs, you can write what you like and for some reason people (me) read on. Honesty comes in brackets, and I love the abstract to the hypothetical to the review.
Time for a break
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