To Delete or Not to Delete...

Hello again. It's been a while. I've got a lot of excuses, but I won't even bother with them, as I'm sure I haven't really been holding up world progress. Who are "you" anyway? Just me, I'm assuming. I love how my habit of talking to myself is creeping over into my writing. Lovely. I'm feeling a strange connection to my dead grandmother about now. She had Alzheimer's the entirety of our acquaintance.

So I'm back in Utah. In school. In a basement apartment. Still married. I have a bike. My favorite zipper to my favorite jeans broke. I've made some shiny new friends. Mark still makes the bed into a taco at night. And I have Internet. That about sums the recent happenings.

Oh, and we went on a Zombie Bike ride on Saturday. That was fun. Here's a few pictures.



So today I visited this blog after many weeks of being away, and I felt strangely self-conscious. I almost deleted it and I still want to and I'm wondering why it was ever a good idea to post pictures of myself in daily outfits and give tours of my medicine cabinet. I'm thinking about all the people who stumble across this blog (all three of them...) and I'm blushing. I feel exposed. I feel dumb. I feel self-conscious.

The blogasphere is such a funny place. It's like a exhibitionist's party. Burning Man comes to mind. And it's so easy for people like me to peek through the crowd and observe it all. But vicarious living looses it's thrill quickly and the next thing you know, you're emulating. Inspired, you- or I, as it seems- find myself dancing on the table. And then the music stops...

Awkward moment.

So here is my awkward moment. Should I get down off the table? Should I creep back through the crowd and find a dark corner somewhere? Should I just leave altogether and go home to my white walls and the air-mattress that me and Mark sleep on because it creates more of a hill-valley scenario than a taco?

Nope. Next song, please. I've still got some dancing to do.