We pick up the story a year later...
The personal, processing online journal version of a blog seems to have gone out of fashion. So naturally, I'm starting mine back up. Walking through the events of the past few days or hours or minutes through typing is meticulously therapeutic. It's a brutal way to view your life. Even if you don't publish the harshness, the misunderstood moments, the places where you see the dark side of yourself reflected in your memory, you have to relive them when you type. It isn't "fun", but it is so virtuous. Especially in times and places where you are far from those conversations during which you would usually stare yourself in the face.
And that's why this is back online.
It's a form of self therapy, it's a sketch pad, a drawing board, it's a way to keep people informed, and it's a shameless attempt at maintaining some form of creativity in my everyday life.
I'm excited to start writing again. To post a picture or two. To hear from someone an ocean away, reminding me that I use too many commas, try to reenact conversation too literally, or read too much into the little things. What can I say? It's a work in progress.
Time to start constructing...
You know, Paul used too many commas in his letters, too.
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