Comrades?

Living alone is not natural. There is no one around to blame for lights left on, the dishes in the sink, or the weird smell coming from the trash can. No one's home when you leave in the morning or when you come home at night. All of the leftovers from tenants past suddenly belong to only you, which is exciting and yet strangely a burden at the same time. One thousand bottles of cleaner. Unmated, abandoned socks. Gum wrappers and boxes of Western Family macaroni and cheese. A place towards which I felt no ownership is now mine, and only mine. Now I am forced to own it. The house seems almost sympathetic to my plight. My residence is probably lonelier than I am and whispers welcome and protection to me as I sit in my room, lock the basement door, or look through the cupboards. We are comrades in arms. I don't know if that quite works because townhouses don't have arms, but whatever.

what in the blog?

Why in the blog am I blogging? I don't bloggin know.

The blog world is one foreign to me. It's a world where emotions run wild, freedom of speech is a little too freely used, and your background is almost as important as what you actually write. There are blogs about cooking, WWF wrestling, collecting things, and failed relationships. This blog will not be dedicated to any of those things, although I wouldn't be surprised if any of those topics found their way onto my blogosphere. This blog will be dedicated to myself, as all blogs truly are. The blog is the perfect narcissistic outlet. Unlimited space to make yourself heard and understood. Facebook, Myspace, and Twitter just aren't enough for the average American to connect with their 1200 friends, and besides your friends never really understand you to begin with, so we have to blog. Now that I've used the word blog more times than is healthy for one person, I'm going to try to have a life outside my computer for a while. Don't worry, I'll be back.

Amy, I'm doing this for you.