Okay, so it turns out that blogging might be my newest addiction. It makes sense–I needed something to replace the alcoholism, drag racing, and sex.
No. Not really.
Blogging has been a very rewarding, in that people actually talk to me about things I’m interested in–or, even better, they read the insane little fictions that plague my constantly running mind. Writing more, both journal-style and fiction (and a series of letters inspired by a friend) have not caused me to run out of ideas; in fact, the exact opposite is happening. I write one thing and an idea triggers. Suddenly, I find myself surrounded by 18 pieces of paper, each with a half-finished string of dialogue or an ornately detailed description of a single moment.
This is happening more often as I get back involved with my friends. I’ve discussed them a few times here as people who are generally inspirational and awesome. We get together on Tuesday evenings and do things like chill around a pepperoni pizza and shoot the breeze, or make lasagna and watch the sweetest one win at Cards Against Humanity (Margaret is an insanely loyal, adorable, hilarious young woman who came to our dinner dressed as a “bitch:” she wore a grey sweater with a dalmatian on the front, and a witching hat).
Friends. Inspiration. Right . . . There are three people in our tiny community that will be talking and my brain will have one of those moments of “WRITE IT DOWN BEFORE YOU LOSE IT THIS THE GREATEST IDEA EVAR AND WILL MAKE ALL THE THINGS BE MAGICAL.”
My brain is a tad theatrical.
Those people, who cause those moments, have made it so I look forward to blogging almost as much as I look forward to Tuesdays (any night of the week when I may be out until 2, 3, or 4 am without any regrets goes down as a good night).
Also, can we enjoy the pure-KaLeena style irony in that I said I would not post for a week and promptly posted MORE often than usual?