Sunday, October 10, 2010

the ridiculous age

There is something about going back to the things you wrote when writing was the thing you did. By "something", of course, I mean "something embarrassing". It isn't only that you see the starry-eyed optimism of youth from the cynical-eyed viewpoint of your old age, but it is that you can no longer relate to it. And you can no longer write with the same ease and disregard for typographical errors that you once did.
I used to write emails to strangers on the internet. There are chances I have said this before; I don't think I will bother to check. Why can I not repeat myself on the internet? It isn't as though someone is going to come up to me and say, "Hey, lady, you've been telling that same story for decades and it's getting old." Actually, that would be kind of awesome, because it would mean someone's actually following my blog. This is even more unlikely, because of the number of times I've:
a. changed the name of the blog
b. deleted the blog
c. changed the address of the blog
d. written somewhere else entirely.

So I will return, thoughtlessly, planlessly, grammarlessly - because I'm uncool like that.