11.28.2004

Apparently I don't write things in November

...not on this blog, anyway...

Not like I couldn't have. I could've written about my trip down here on the 19th; how the cat squirted poop on my seat, how I drove through a "freak" rainstorm in the middle of the desert that then turned into a hailstorm. Or how I've been to three dinner parties in a row: first for thanksgiving (satisfying), then at Lauren's apartment (scrumptious), and then at Ms. Fitz's (hours of intense conversation, snacks). That would've made some good reading...

But as all of you who are reading this should know already: you're reading in retrospect. This blog, as it is now, is for no one but me. If you've read this far it's because you're interested... good for you. What are you—a family member, a close friend? Doesn't matter. This is a journal and not a blog, even though it is technically a log on the web. And sometimes one doesn't want electronic.

Therefore, I have written in my solid physical journal more. That was the original intent of this web spiel—to write more. Sometimes I don't need it. So for the unasked question, there is the answer.