The Middle of the Ride

After attempts at categorically allowing myself to go through the process of making sense of the stories that have somehow become my life, I decided that categorically processing anything having to do with life, change, fears, emotions, or accomplishments is a ridiculous oxymoron. My best friend suggested a blog. I laughed. Another friend suggested a blog. I laughed harder. Why would anyone care to read about the situations that have come together to create my history? "They're funny". "You're honest and people like to read honesty". "They're real".
Somehow, my life has begun to feel like it might be worth writing down. I recognize the pretentiousness of creating a blog, published on the internet, completely about myself. But I also recognize that you only live once. In attempt to move forward by somehow sending these stories out into the landfill that the internet inevitably becomes, I am hoping that I will create a sort of scrapbook out of what is at this point a crapbook in my mind.
Yep, there's lots of crap. But, hey, crap can be funny. If someone craps their pants, they may not laugh at the time, but I'm willing to bet that once they're out of that moment and in some fresh drawers, laundry done, they will laugh. That's what I'm doing now. Laughing at my crapbook. Hopefully you will too.