What is blogging anyway?
I started keeping a diary long before the internet was around… and goddammit if people didn’t read that too…
I’m always deeply suspicious of myself when I stop keeping a journal… when I look at my old diaries it is almost invariable when I was at my most deviant that I stopped keeping a journal… so as not to incriminate myself? No. So I didn’t have to answer to myself, then or later…. what a bizarre hope.
Almost as bizarre as the idea that a diary is kept for others to read when you’re gone…
Of course, the good old internet thingamajiggamy has changed all that, hasn’t it?
We don’t even have to wait till we’re dead or are partners curiousity oversteps the bounds of decency before it’s all out there, hanging on the breeze like undies on a hills hoist….
Hoist on our own petards….
All of which is to say that this is not *exactly* the case right now.
Unless it is the fact that I feel like I really am doing nothing at all that I don’t want to think about.
The days are fine… but ever since Perth
“God, I could be bounded in a nut shell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams”
EVERY FUCKING NIGHT FOR A MONTH AND A HALF.
My promise to all you AnneFrankensteiners.