I am not a beautiful and unique snowflake.


So I’m having my twilight with blogging. It has been a great record of the past few years. For a long time I loved it madly.


Now I’m over it, everyone else seems to be over it and it is impeding my creativity. I could honestly and openly write fiction, but friends would psycho-analyze it. In fact in the past some have. Some are brave enough to do it to my face and others surreptitiously. I could write the candid inner-workings of my soul, but the wrong people could always get their hands on it.


The magic is gone. At least it feels that way. Any day my last transmission will appear on here. Just like your favorite dog growing up that “went to the farm” or your favorite sitcom character, you can pick up the story from here. Perhaps I went on to write the great American novel. Perhaps I’m waist deep in the monotony of suburbia. From here my life will become the ultimate Mad-Lib. Just pick a noun and a verb and away we go.