Late to the Party

By my count, this is my fourth attempted blog. So right off the bat, I'm not going to claim to be a good blogger (if such a thing exists). I suppose a good blogger would be someone who:

1) updates frequently enough to hold interest, but not so frequently that it becomes tiresome,

2) is interesting and witty without being pretentious or tiresome,

3) doesn't abandon the blog after a set period of weeks (or days), which is fairly tiresome.

The first blog I had was about work. I had some good stuff on there, but it was all thickly veiled with false names and details. It was a good way for me to vent about the kinds of things that went on at work (read: regular and institutionalized insanity) but that blog is lost in the mists of time. To be honest, I don't even remember what it was called. It's been blocked out of my mind, along with most other things from that job, in the grand rush of sunlight, hope and optimism that was the moment I walked out the door.

My second blog was a follow-up, written in the days following that job, when I could finally fill my mind with other things to write about. That died a quick death when I came up against two major realizations: first, that I was bloody boring, and second, that I was pregnant. There was no blogging for a while, until my third appeared with the birth of my daughter: a blog about raising her, and the wonderful little moments of every day. It was written both because I wanted to record everything, and because I wanted a way for those friends and family not around me (far too many) to keep up with her. I kept that up for several months, but ran up against my old nemesis (self-confidence) with the added complication of frequent tiredness.

So, here we are again. This time, I have no great goals for this blog. I am viewing it as a way to get myself writing every day (always a good thing), a possible distraction from things I am supposed to be doing instead (can always use another of those), and a way to natter on about things to a relatively captive audience (relatively, since you could always close the page).

I think I have finally reached the point where I don't feel the need to prove something. For that reason alone, this one might stick.

An Owl in the Morning is what I am: something that perhaps isn't where it should be, but isn't entirely out of place either. It's also what these entries will be: a little of everything.

I promise not to use so many parentheses next time.