Hanging On

Or, Spaniard Turns IV

After almost closing this blog down, and once even saying goodbye, I've managed to stick it for four years!

Four is the adolescence of blogging. This is when one gets moody and misunderstood, where one wants all the attention of the first couple of years but, unaccountably, spurns it when it is given. There are long, sulky silences followed by acute resentment when no one turns up to ask what the matter is.

On the other hand, there's - not to put too fine a point on it - boredom.

This blog is, if you haven't already noticed, going through an identity crisis.

I've considered closing comments, because I'm usually too busy or too unmotivated to respond, but I can't bring myself to do it. I love comments! I wish there were more! Nobody loves me unless they comment and continue to comment even if I don't respond!

(It's not that I don't, it's that I don't feel like it most of the time).

There's a lot of intention. There's a whole potential of it. Every day I think of something that needs essay length posts.

But the thing is, I'm inclining toward the elliptical.

This is a good time to point you to Aditi's lovely post about mood boards. Why just for poets? I think it's a wonderful thing for everyone to have. A visual/verbal shorthand* for what's going on in one's head at any given time.

So that's what this blog might turn into from time to time. For one thing, I'm too lazy to start another dedicated blog. For another, I might one day want to do long explicatory posts just to break up the cryptic. I mean, there's room for all kinds of rubbish here, right, and even the occasional gem or two?

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* I like how she also calls it a morgue. I like places like that. There's an apt quote but I'm saving it for elsewhere.