Introverted Narcissism

I've been writing a lot lately. I think I just plain forgot- for a long time- how much I love to write. The beauty of writing is that the more you do it, the more you think in WORDS. The easier it is to understand the details of what you see and the emotions that you attach to things. I discovered this years ago in college when I kept a notebook (in the Joan Didion sense) on me at all times and was always prepared to write down any thought that seemed even remotely significant. The beauty of it is that my thinking became cyclical- in a good way. The act of writing commits thoughts to memory, and more often than not, in a way that involves rhythm and/or alliteration and/or metaphor, etc. The world comes into focus when you can link occurrences by common threads, relate thoughts to each other, and otherwise undergo a constant analysis of the world around you and your relation to it.

The downside is, you start to think your every insignificant thought is important. "It must be shared with the world!" you say to yourself. I'd sometimes catch myself referring back to entries in my notebook in conversation, as if they would have any meaning whatsoever to my audience. Typically not the case.

I guess the point of all this is, here I am again, futilely trying to throw my inner thoughts out into the world. Take whatever you want from this blog. Discard anything you don't need. But thanks for indulging me all the same, all two or three of you.