SO, I haven’t “written” anything in years. I always wanted to be a writer, like Fitzgerald or Hemingway or Plath, but, really? I mean, I don’t have much to say I don’t think. I’m kind of neurotic, but who isn’t? And I can’t handle alcohol anymore, but I’m not depressed and brooding either. Ugh.
Anyhoo, this chick at work was all like “you’re stupid (she meant funny), you should have a blog.” But I think that the general consensus is that bloggers are mostly hipster douchebags who don’t have real jobs. I would rather cut off my own foot and feed it to a cat than be called a hipster anything and I don’t like cats. Now, just to be clear, I don’t personally know anyone who blogs, so I can’t judge. But should I take the risk?
If I do chose “to write”, where would I even put it? Some out there would venture to say that paper is dead so I would really have no choice but to join the world of bloggers because if I just write stuff for myself then I’m journaling. I was never very big on that. Then again, I could write stuff and make my friends and husband read it, but I think they already deal with me enough as it is.
Well, I’m doing it. My husband says it would be good for me since he thinks I’m a good writer – well of course he does. And I already did those socks, cupcake and crunchy leaf thingies, which mom, of course, rated excellent and shared on FB 🙂 So now what? Hmmm… I’m getting ready to get on the SI Ferry. Maybe I will get inspired on my voyage back from Hattan to Staten. Who knows?