I’ve always thought of myself as an avid writer… I can write poems, stories and many the occassional letter that never gets sent. I have no problems writing to or about someone, anyone, other than myself. So like a writer staring at a blank sheet of paper, here I am staring down at my keyboard wondering what strokes to make, what words to use in expressing the contents of my head. I’m sure I’ll get better at this as I go along, afterall how boring it would be to have each entry a be simple blank [web] page. Could that be any indication on my life or what’s in my head? I doubt it. I’ve always kept a journal for years, since I was a young girl. I remember my first ‘diary’ it had one of those locks on it that never really worked but more or less acted as a deterant for whomever had wandering eyes, especially when they belonged to a younger sibling, a sister to be more specific. I still have that old diary… pages filled with "I love Shawn Cassidy" or "My little sister is a brat" or "Johnny actually looked at me in class today."

I’d like to think that I’m beyond those types of entries. At 36 years old I’m sure my pages can be filled with some pretty extreme and intense subjects. So if you’re wandering eyes should fumble across my little "space" here… feel free to add a comment or two.. come back and check in now and then.