Outlet

I think one of the hardest parts about falling into regular blogification will be the lingering sense of shame, the nagging meta-contextual guilt over feeling stupid for what I’m doing as I’m doing it. I mean, I’m blogging.

Alright. Catharsis.

One of the reasons I decided to keep up a journal (of sorts), more than just a dumping-ground of the things and thinks I find interesting, is for a place to work out the situations and details of my life without bothering anyone. A sitting room of the soul, if you will, although in this case there’s no one on the sofa but me.

It’s not that I don’t have people to talk to; I have been blessed with a multitude of like-minded individuals who are warm and receptive to whatever I might have to say. I still feel the need, though, for a single person--an outlet--to whom I can pour out absolutely everything I might need to say, without fear of being judged or, worse, boring them. If the internet is good for anything, this is it.