If you say you will write one hundred posts in one hundred days, that’s a Thing. It’s a goal. A Goal.
If you then proceed to drag out the hundred posts over more than a hundred days, it’s just a blog.
So, this is just a blog, like any other. Sorry. It’s not special. There is no gimmick or knack. I am still posting! Until I get to 100! But, well, so what.
It’s not even special to me. Really. Man it’s like the second time you try heroin*. Never as good as the first.
* I have never tried heroin.
I loved my first blog. I didn’t love the name of it necessarily, as years went on and it made less and less sense to anyone, but I loved that it was this great cave in the Internet where I could sit and pull my knees to my chest and just feel warm and safe. I loved that I started it as a bored unemployed person with an itchy chin, no dependants, and a lot of free time, and ended it in a suburb, with two small kids and a lot more grey hair.
There’s something special about something that sees you through so much transition and doesn’t so much as blink. Not that it could blink, being a blog.
MY BLOG WAS MY BEST FRIEND AND YOU CAN’T REPLACE THAT, MAN.
No, that’s not quite it.
I don’t know what this space is all about yet. But then, making friends takes a long time. Once you know someone and love them, you look back at all that friend-making and polite dancing about you did and laugh because now you’ve talked about taboo thing and have gone to another level of friendship and can’t even remember when you thought she maybe looked boring or snooty.
This place will go to that place someday. And we’ll forget all this awkwardness ever happened.