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Persistence

So from livejournal to facebook to ravelry to wherever, I find that I have pieces of my thoughts and pieces of me scattered across the interwebs. I'm fine with that, essentially, given that ultimately we're all atoms and stars any way.

I figure distilling it all down to one place may be a better idea though.

So I'll start here, as if I'm in the middle, which I am. But for this place it's a beginning.

This was going to be a doctor blog. I thought I could wax academic about my chosen profession.

And then my life got in the way: I worked full time, I have a great husband, and fantastic daughter. I picked up yarnwork and knitting again, learned to crochet and rediscovered my addiction to yarn and half finished projects.

I continued to play videogames, which are a shocking destroyer of time and intention. Particularly with WoW, which never ends. There's one more boss, there's one more quest, there's one more achievement. Oh, you did those? Well, some of the quests are daily quests. And you can kill those bosses once a week for phat loots.

So here I am. In the middle. I'm learning to do things I knew when I was young, like knitting and baking and sewing.

I'm allowing myself the ability to write more, to express more. I used to think that I couldn't write if my husband were looking over my shoulder. I mean, he'd read it and know what I was thinking. >gasp<

But if I don't want my best friend and partner to read it, why I am writing it? Why am I compelled to put this pen to pap--oh, wait, uh, put this fingers to my keyboard if I didn't feel like someone needed to read it?

And then I remember, the writing has its own value. The expression is not to change readers, but to change and to grow myself.

So again, this fleeting idea of a blog, a journal, a record of some sort becomes persistent. From the old diaries and journals that are sprinkled among the books on my shelves, to the letters saved from school, to the archives of emails sent on mailing lists and now to the blogosphere, the record continues. Between things like myspace, facebook, google +, twitter, pinterest, forums, text messages, etc, I have scattered my thoughts, criticisms, hopes, joys and fears across this wisp of connectivity.

Is the record of my thoughts any more or less important than those of others? Not really. Not to everyone. But to my daughter, to my family, it may be one day. To me, it's very important. It reminds me that I am here. Like the Whos on that clover painted by Dr. Seuss, I am clamoring all of the time to announce that I am here. I am invested. My thoughts and reactions are important, if only to me.

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