Holy shite, it’s been a year since I signed up for this blogger thing! August 14th is the official birthday of this journal, so I’m cheating and post-dating this entry to the 14th to make it an Even Steven August 14th to August 14th year. Why? The 14th is on Sunday and I don’t like wasting my weekend time writing. Weekends are for more important things like eating cookies at furniture stores, looking at stuff I can’t buy, running around like a monkey, and jumping on the bed.
Annahoo, this writing stuff is a great thing. It all started with my wanting to email my family this story I wrote about my buddy Devo (R.I.P. – I still miss the Hell out of that little guy!) and after reading VomitGod’s journal for a few months, I loved his and thought it looked like a fun thing to try.
It has proven to be quite the imagination stretcher and therapeutic time killer. Half the time I sit down and don’t know what I’m going to write about, but then something comes to mind and poof, there goes another wordy journal entry. And when I’m done and press the publish button, I get an endorphin rush equivalent to that of just having sat on the loo for 20 minutes with a good newspaper.
In the past year I think I’ve managed to take about 5 years off of my life from some of the most intense stress I’ve ever been through, and writing has been a great help to get through it. If I went back in time to a year ago as I was typing the Devo story and informed myself of the shitstorm of insanity (which also involved a lot of good things) that was to unfurl throughout the next 365 days, I would not have believed it. Maybe you’ll get all the dirt someday when E! makes a True Hollywood Story of my life, but that’s several years, liposuctions, and pounds of cocaine down the road. Sorry, but for now you’re stuck with reading about things like how I think trees should be painted to look like barbershop poles because squirrels run up them in that pattern and it would be nice to provide them with a guide.
Thanks for checking in and reading this poot whenever you do. Please go eat a piece of cake, or at the very least a Twinkie (either Hostess or chicken) to celebrate my 1 year of writing about nothing in particular.
As the redundant folk like to say, “It’s the One Year Anniversary!”