My classmates critiqued an essay about my sorry ass life, and they all seemed to really like it, enough for one peer to request my blog address.Shocked and surprised, I reluctantly typed the address into a draft and did not look as I pressed "send."I warned him; I never update it, it looks a hot mess. My roommate said such when I posted my last blog over winter break. But now, I remember the address is on my professional Twitter.
Who saw my former layout and has judged my sloppy web design?So I simplified. But I valued some of the info I had, so I'm posting it here:
"Time is just a concept made up by man, and as long as the world spins on, man bides his 'time' with follies and excuses and love. Thus is life, looking for things to fill the time, to serve a purpose. People search for why it is that we are here, and the meaning is personal and individual. The meaning is to find meaning and mean it. There are no absolutes to life, no truths to any of it. We take on what is true to us, and that is how we make it through. Life, as we know it, is as we know it."
And...
"Like the Greek goddess,I am gifted with the ability to foresee tragedy. I own perspective. I see things and feel things that others cannot understand. So much so, that like the great goddess, I am cursed to a life of hesitation, disbelief and reluctance. Cursed for simply denying seduction. So I write on anyway, to share what others won't hear or comprehend. Writing until someone breaks the curse."
With that stated, I'm going to write more (well, I write a LOT, but I'll post it here, less formally than my articles for The Slate and The Burg.)
So read, please. This isn't my journal, it's my stage for an audience; you.
