Blogoholic

I'm a stalker. I have become a blogoholic. I love to peek into the lives of people who I will never ever know outside of what I read about. I love the humor, the pain, the life that I read about. I feel lacking in my own blogging, that what seems easy to these others, is sometimes painfully hard for me to get my thoughts across. I've spent a lot of time recently reading blogs and choosing those I want to read again and follow their stories.

Writing isn't something I've ever thought about alot. I never felt I had the great novel in me, although I'm fascinated with the written word and get completely lost in a book. I read my old favorite books over and over and they feel fresh and new each time. I do think that life if funny and I like to share what I see as funny. Not everyone gets me. My friend Mary gets me. I think I started blogging to keep her laughing. She's a great audience and so very clever and funny herself. We can yuk it up together.

What gets me about blogging is that I come up with incredible stuff to blog about while I'm driving, far from home and keyboard. When I get home, do all my home stuff -kid, cats, husband, etc, I can't for the life of me remember what I was going to blog about. I have this big brain fart and everything is gone. Well, not everything. The edges are there, all fuzzy, unfocused. Maybe I just need to get new glasses. But then I'll see that damn dust again...