I never really understood what people do with blogs. Yes, I started one. To what purpose, I myself cannot comprehend. What am I meant to do, really? Do I ramble incoherently about my pathetic existence? Much as anyone would like to pretend that every day in their life is an engrossing adventure (possibly involving a few dragons), I cannot, and choose not to. My existence, unfortunately, deals with far more mundane matters, like the towering pile of textbooks that sits menacingly on my desk as I write this. Hardly the stuff fantasies are made of. Do I chronicle the little thoughts that flit in and out of my tired brain like butterflies; worthless, evanescent thoughts that, surely, are neither of any use nor interest to any creature that roams this planet? Would I be willing to expose the darkest, seldom-visited chambers and catacombs of my mind to any and every stranger, crawling the World Wide Web, who somehow happens to stumble upon this blog? I don’t know. Yet.
I assume blogging is a skill, acquired and perfected by experience. Someday, my writing will metamorphose into pieces that are worth reading. Until then, I will have to be content with my useless ranting.