This post began as a tweet...somehow I got to -760 characters when I realized it was more of a blog post:
I'm obsessed with blogging because I'm obsessed with documenting things that may or may not matter. Before the internet I documented such things in my first diary, complete with lock and key. On each page the secret world of pre-teens in the mid-nineties unfolds from within. Boys I liked, gossip, funny things my teachers said by mistake, pervasive self-centeredness and occasional notes on my little brother's latest video games were all recorded in number two pencil. From age ten to thirteen I habitually wrote in that tiny little 6x6 inch diary. Some entries are completely scribbled over and crossed out and strangely enough I can remember why two decades later. After middle school I graduated to larger notebooks, my entries and words gained length and were written in ink. I've been 'blogging' for twenty-two years and I didn't know it. Although I guess it was called 'journaling' before technology connected us through the web. I deal in words. They fill me, I feel them.
To this day I literally litter my thoughts in multiple notebooks - I have a backpack full of half-filled out notebooks, scribblings, ideas and things I can't fit into a 140 character length tweet. I find that writing is always both scary and exciting. Some people wingsuit, I think, torture myself internally and write. I scale emotional cliffs to put it lightly. Writing has always been a bit of a thrill-find for me. I just don't like the thought of happenings I wasn't able to pay attention to, to dissect, to absorb. Writing things brings me peace. I like to binge tweet sometimes. I think it's an imbalanced behavior from not writing regularly for many years.
I don't really record life literally anymore, more like words that speak of the residue living everyday life leaves me with. The residue I can turn into dust and blow from my open hands like spreading glitter into the world. Somehow everyday life experiences become distilled and fragmented, then rearranged into a delicately cohesive feeling expressed with just the right words. Can I turn this day into a single poetic sentence? Yes, I believe I can. Am I going to illustrate this? Not yet.