Once upon a very long time ago, in the mid-90s, I kept an online journal that I wrote in almost every day, certainly many times a week, and found great joy in doing so. Now, despite my best intentions, I forget that this blog even exists for months on end! I blame my lack of a corporate 9-to-5 (or as it actually was, about 10ish until 7ish) job; when I was chained to my desk all day every day I ended up writing in online fora as a break from doing the work I was supposed to be doing. But when I was in school I was too busy turning out masses of academic writing to blog (except for those occasional moments when I had so many papers to write I was irresistably tempted to write here instead...), and now that I am a full-time homemaker it hardly ever occurs to me to put my thoughts down, and often when it does I am busily trying to fall asleep, or chatting with my husband, or otherwise doing things which preclude putting intention into action.
Reading lovely lovely book blogs from a year ago, though (which I can do because bloglines has been patiently archiving posts for me all this time) -- that really makes me want to write, especially about my reading. I'm sure tomorrow I'll forget all about this again, or be too tired, or too hot, or too busy running errands (tomorrow is going to be a terrible day for appointments) -- but right now I feel like writing, and so here I am.
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