stumbling around the recently blogged list, i discovered this.

makes me wonder, again, what this page is for. if the things i say here are pure self-indulgence, if i'm writing anything that's worth the time of whomsoever decides to read it. if i should be channeling it all out into the real world, instead of turning it into little shapes on a screen.

then again, most of my life is defined by those same little shapes, on the screen and on pages and in my mind.

i've had a webpage, in some form of disrepair or another, for three years now. i've changed during that time, and my voice, my writing, has changed to reflect that. my first page was little but the disjointed ramblings of an angsty sixteen-year-old... and i don't know that what i'm writing now is much different. more eloquent, i'd like to think. less personal, maybe, too.

i don't direct my posts towards people so much as into the void of the internet, of the universe, to some arcane and faceless audience that exists mostly in my imagination. i'm still writing for myself; this has always been primarily a selfish endeavor, some place to spill the little nagging thoughts that richochet around inside my head all day.


spring is here, and outside the window, a tree softly explodes into pale green. the rain has finally stopped, and for now the sky is blue.

so i'm still writing, and good luck getting me to stop.