I don’t really much use the internets anymore. I now use a super secret new communication device that only select government agents have heard about so far. For this, I deeply apologize. But I did want to say hi, as in hello internets, we should totally do lunch, send me a text, I want to hear about your new girlfriend.
Some of the readers (should I say former readers?) of this here website thingamabob have emailed me to see if I have died. I haven’t, which is really good news for everyone except maybe my ex-husband and the girl that I played doctor with when we were tiny and then mentioned said explorations when I saw her again in a college English class. Anyhoos, not dead. Busy, happy, fatigued, working, mothering, moving into new domicile, but not dead. Not yet.
I don’t know how I feel about the internets anymore. In some ways, posting salient details of my personal life narrative for unseen dozens has lost its je ne said quoi. In others, I am busy as fuck. That’s a technical term. Busy as fuck. What can I say internet? When it comes right down to it, we decide how to spend the five minutes between all of life’s tasks and toils and some of us choose animal husbandry, blogging, macrame, or brick counting, but all I can offer is that I used to be compelled to come and write here and these days I am less and less.
It probably has something to do with my overall indices of mental health, my lack of concrete items to whinge about, and a life that’s more full than even I can truly handle these days. But know that I’m happy, I love you, and the internet is still so wicked cool. Where else would you be able to watch videos of girls eating poop and get to hear directly from Michelle Obama? Come on, you know I’m right. The internet still rocks, even if I’d rather be learning to brew beers or sew skirts or kissing my boyfriend.
