“You should start a blog,” I was told. “Why aren’t you writing?” another colleague asked. Why not? I’ve kept journals in various forms since I was a child, but was convinced that I wouldn’t be adding anything new, interesting or compelling to the clutter that is the internet. Obviously, I’ve decided to give it a go, yet again. This is where I am attempting to chronicle the adventures of my life. I have this (somewhat bizarre) compulsion to write and share things I have been through, experienced or wondered about. I make no promises of quality or quantity. Sometimes writing is therapeutic for me, as is feedback. Unless your feedback is mean-spirited, and then it’s not therapeutic and will just make me angry. Such is life on the internet, right?
The basics that are very likely inspire my writing: I’m in my mid-40s, but feel like I’m still in my 20s. I grew up in the Detroit suburbs in the late 1980s and early 1990s. I desperately miss real alternative music. I’m constantly striving to be a better person and to learn new things. I’m a migraineur, a librarian and an amateur genealogist. I split my time, both personal and professional, between two countries. I have one husband, one child and one cat. I’m easily distracted, which is both a blessing and a curse.