10 August 2007
♥ mom, meet my real life.
In addition to the horrific realization that summer is nearly at its end, I have a bit of bad news for my readers: in a most unfortunate and tragic turn of events, my mother has stumbled upon this blog and now has some concerns about what I've been up to this summer. While I can understand her frustration at my inherent dishonesty about my whereabouts over the last two and a half months, I feel strongly that a lack of such activity would have led to my being a complete emotional basket case, or at least moreso that I already am.
My first reaction, of course, was that I should probably just delete the whole website and be done with it. After all, if she digs a little deeper, she'll undoubtedly discover my cache of dirty little secrets, none of which I'm especially keen on having her know about. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I can't get rid of this shitty low- (okay, no-) budget site, because it's pretty much a picture of me over the last two years. Things have been good and they've been bad, but through the ups and downs, I've become me.
So while I may exercise more discretion in the future--expect a little less diatribe on my drug and alcohol intake--I plan to keep up the not-always-so-good work.
And anyway, where else would I come up with material for my memoirs, which I suppose I have about a decade until I can appropriately publish? I'm sure I'll forget all this by then, and since senility is already showing signs in me, I can only hope that my mother forgets to ground me.
My first reaction, of course, was that I should probably just delete the whole website and be done with it. After all, if she digs a little deeper, she'll undoubtedly discover my cache of dirty little secrets, none of which I'm especially keen on having her know about. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I can't get rid of this shitty low- (okay, no-) budget site, because it's pretty much a picture of me over the last two years. Things have been good and they've been bad, but through the ups and downs, I've become me.
So while I may exercise more discretion in the future--expect a little less diatribe on my drug and alcohol intake--I plan to keep up the not-always-so-good work.
And anyway, where else would I come up with material for my memoirs, which I suppose I have about a decade until I can appropriately publish? I'm sure I'll forget all this by then, and since senility is already showing signs in me, I can only hope that my mother forgets to ground me.
8/10/2007
