I was going to be a world famous writer. I was going to be a world famous poet. I was going to be a world famous rockstar. A world famous comedian. Just world famous at something. I make my parents laugh on facebook, that's where I'm at right now.
I have piles of diaries and half written songs and unsent letters and a dry cleaning receipt (oops) and a dream journal- don't laugh! I'm really good at interpreting dreams, I took a 6 week class - and I've kept them all these years in hope that when I die my love ones will find them in a shoebox under my bed while crying and exclaim, "My god! She was brilliant!" and publish my greatness and I will be known as the next Emily Dickinson. I've met my loved ones- this scenario is unlikely.
I must carry on alone. In blog form. This is probably a bad idea.
May I present to you (imagine a drumroll here and maybe some kind of music like fireworks and Celine Dion is about to be announced)
THE NEW BLOG!
But not a replacement blog, I still love you. Shh. Don't be like that.
Man alive! you are excited! I know, I know.