Bloggit.

Love and happiness? I mean, really, It's a half-baked idea at best-- an awfully rough sketch of our youths never realize. Time to point our own two paws towards the future, as well.

Erin

bother.

hello again,

I'm running back and forth between two blogs because no place ever seems like home, anyway. It's the sign on the door that has made me so nomadic. I can't get past the sound, "blog," say it to yourself, very quietly. It sounds as if it should be a modest interjection, you know, one made by mice--I left the windows open and now my floor is all wet. Blog. Bloggit all to hell--and boy, will I.

I always run to this thing when I think I've got something to say, some big emotion that needs a good walking. And for some reason I truly do believe that if someone would just witness it, the staunch trot of my unfailing sadness, somehow it might mean something--really. Coo coo, I am aware. After all, my burdens are not your burdens and our culture does not permit the sharing of such private information so willingly. But perhaps I am wrong there, dear cloud, our privacy laws are a'changin'. So I'd keep reading, suckers.

Just kidding, I'm not going to tell you everything. Just that I'm moving out and taking a step backwards. Everyone who knows me knows that it's not what I want, and that I've essentially allowed what I want to dictate the rules. There is no real way out of it, except to drown a little, cry a little, walk a dog a little--write in this damn blog a little.

who knows, maybe I'll be here more often. I've got this warm kitty head resting on my chest, two paws sticking out, reaching for his little kitty future, and I think this might be alright for a blog. And when Abu and I are apart, I'll get a dog and write about his every habit to avoid the real subject, whaddya say?

See you soon.

Erin