Ok so I've finally decided to jump aboard the blogging train.
I've been in and out of serious relationships the better part of my adult life, always had roommates, or just been plain unwilling to spend time on my own. So now, here I am, living on my own- no boyfriend this side of the Atlantic (or Pacific if you want to get really technical) and just trying to figure out what it is single 20-somethings do with their day to day life. It's a phenomnon that has come to fascinate me as of late.
Now for me, I am pretty active whether I am playing tennis, coaching softball, taking a class, working, at the dog park, trying on every piece of clothing my closet (don't act like you've never done it!) or just meeting a friend for dinner. However, it's my time at home and my time alone that I tend to struggle with.
So I open my inaugural post with a question- This one's for all the laaaaaaaadiez! What do you do with your free time? Television is not an acceptable answer. It's a last resort (don't be offended).
My hope is that I can create a forum for 20-something singles to vent, share stories, advice, recipes, sales, anything you want. I'll post my musings and observations from time to time. I'll be wrong more often than not, so please be kind. We are all here to help each other, blah blah blah.
In my free time? I stalk woodland creatures. Like normal people do.
ReplyDeletep.s. You should totally make Name/URL an acceptable comment as option - I know you also have to allow anonymous, but it opens up comments to everyone who doesn't have a Blogger account (or who does from days gone by but hates having to sign into a different email address to access it!).
He had a unique way of thinking: he didn't consider himself that important; in his own eyes, he was not that rare and irreplaceable creature most people imagine when they think about themselves. He felt pity towards his fellow sufferers, but his pity was lucid and detached. After all, he thought, these great human migrations seemed to follow natural laws. Surely such occasional mass displacements were necessary to humans, just as the migration of livestock was to animals. He found this idea oddly comforting. The people around him believed that fate was tracking them down, them and their pitiable generation; but not Maurice: he knew there had been exoduses throughout history. How many people had died on this land (on land everywhere in the world), dripping with blood, fleeing the enemy, leaving cities in flames, clutching their children to their hearts: no one gave a thought to those countless dead, or pitied them. To their descendants they were no more important than chickens who'd had their throats slit. As he walked along, he imagined their plaintive ghosts rising up, leaning towards him, whispering in his ear, "We've been through this already, before you. Why should you be more fortunate than us?"
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