Well, I guess it's mine, really. But it's your's too. It's ours. Yay!
Now, what should we do with it?
It's going to require a lot of work. Like a dog. Or a job. Or a plant. And considering my past history with house plants, that last statement is a bit fucking scary.
Forget the plant metaphor. Let's just call this as what it is: a work in progress. Just like me. Just like you. Just like everyone we know, whether they want to admit it or not.
Let's not strive for perfection. Because we're not at work—there's no client or boss looming over our shoulders, at least not at the present moment. Let's be real. Because life is messy and we're all figuring it out as we go. Let's tell it like it is. Because pretending sucks. Let's say what we feel. Because feelings.
But just to be clear, we're not writing this. I am. Because I'm the writer. I mean, you could be a writer too. And if you are, awesome! I suggest starting your own blog. (Also, we should be friends.) But this one? This one is mine. But I'm not just writing it for me. I hope that I can capture the attention of others like me and you—those with something to say, with creativity that needs an outlet, that enjoys finding the bits of everyday life that make it all seem worth it, or make it all seem really, really hard. And finding the joy in all of it.
So in short, yeah. This is the story of my life. Told in little nuggets—one moment, one short story at a time.
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