When I was a kid, I had a diary. Actually, I had as many as three, at various ages. I would religiously record my thoughts every night for a week. Then I would wait a week before writing a very short entry. And then nothing.
I went through this exercise three times before realizing that journaling just wasn’t for me. I had a really wonderful childhood, but it wasn’t that exciting. I suppose I could have written about the books I was reading, since I was an especially voracious reader (I wish I had that much time these days), but I was always too interested in the next book to take the time to write anything down. I did very poorly in the library’s summer reading program because I couldn’t be bothered to record what I’d read, there were more books to read, people! Didn’t they understand that I was on a deadline? I only had two months of summer break, not the almost three months that American children get.
Fast forward thirty years later, and not a whole lot has changed. I still have a great life, though I have less time for reading. These days, my life is taken up with my girlfriend and her kids, work, writing, and hockey, in that order. I read as much as I can, but I certainly don’t plow through books like I used to. It’s just not that exciting.
Why am I telling you all of this? It’s pretty much a preemptive apology for being a terrible blogger. I will come and go, and pass on what’s happening in my life, and what I think on various topics. I have no idea what will appeal to anyone who is reading this blog, though I’m happy to take suggestions!
So come along on this herky-jerky journey, if you dare.