I suck at blogging

If you’re like me, you probably had, oh, I don’t know, 45 false starts at journaling over the years.

My pattern was consistent: buy (or accept the gift of) a pretty new journal, write one or two ernest posts, tuck journal away while awaiting the next inspired moment, discover it two to three years later, die of embarrassment over previous entries, tear out and tear up (or burn, or bury) the evidence. Repeat.

If I had saved any of these gems, I’d surely be the shining star of Mortified. As it is, it’s probably for the best that there’s relatively little evidence of my cheesiness and angst. Now I’ve just got this blog!

How much do I suck? I drafted this post in May 2013!

But since I last wrote I’ve become an accidental stay-at-home-mom (long story) to the world’s best baby and I’ve got a little (very little) time and inclination to pick up blogging again so I may get back to it. If for no one else than my dad, who is by far my most loyal reader.

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I make things. And do things. And think about things. And stuff. And whatnot.

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