the existentialism of blogging

i never thought it would happen. i'm blogging. i'm a blogger. i've never been the kind of person who kept a diary for any reason, which isn't to say i didn't try. i reluctantly recorded both of my trips to europe only because i knew i would be thanking myself later (i still haven't looked back at them). i also dabbled in diary keeping around the age of 13 which i don't even think i enjoyed doing at the time.

now, if you (the invisible audience) are anything like my dad, you're screaming "but you want to be a writer! how can you be a writer if you don't write every chance you get?!" my programed answer has always been "i don't know," because, truthfully, i didn't know. i still don't know why fully, but i think part of it is that i just don't see the appeal in writing down the monotonous, uneventful things that happen to me. i can remember only three occasions that i wrote about my life to relieve some sort of heightened emotion or work out what was going on in my head. they were very personal but very far from what i imagine constant diary-keeping to be.

and then late last night, i created a blog. why, you may be asking, would a girl so anti-diary and anti-writing-about-her-life be blogging? well, for one, my dad is right (as per usual). writers, or in my case, writer hopefuls, need to write. practice makes perfect, right? and secondly, i've been watching a few of my friends blog for a while now -- check them out on the right! -- and i figured it was time to jump on the bandwagon. after all, a blog isn't a diary so i won't be writing that much about my life -- just about my opinions on random shit. and who doesn't like preaching to an audience that can't protest?