I did a small amount of research today, and it turns out that I am even farther out of the blogging loop than I had originally believed myself to be.
This is not much of a surprise. Since I first heard it, I've been squeamish about the term "blogger" because, at least partly, it reminds me of frogger and he often got run over by cars, drowned, and eaten by alligators. Beyond that, though, I'm very much the technophobe. I have long been uncomfortable with machines, and computers are no exception.
I have troubles with my wrists and so I used a typewriter for writing school papers from a young age. I loved the typewriter, the noise that it made, and I would rock back and forth to the music from my words. But correction tape was expensive and often messy and just generally inconvenient and so I reluctantly made the move to the computer. I had a brief but intimate relationship with the internet (the embarrassing results of which are, in the grand tradition of the web, still floating about somewhere) but it was more experiment, more testing the waters.
It was only a matter of time, though, until my exhibitionistic side made its way out and I started my livejournal. It wasn't a serious project; I saw it as something sort of like a telephone. But then I moved to Seattle and, not knowing a soul, found myself in need of someone to talk to. And being the only one I knew I was the only one to talk to and, well, you see what's happened. But I'm still uncomfortable calling myself a blogger, and in fact I avoid the word whenever possible. Like nearly everything else I've ever tried, the people around me seem to be much more serious than I myself am, and it turns out once again that there's a whole universe I wasn't aware of.
And really, it seems that even when I've quit leaving places to find other worlds, other worlds keep showing themselves to me. I make a poor intrepid explorer, with my weak wrists and unsensible shoes, but it seems as though I've appeared on your doorstep regardless.
Hello there.
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