begin again

Hello, blog. And whoever might be reading this. And self.

Today is the day I continue my blog. Blog blog blog, blog. At this point the word seems kind of silly to me, and the idea seems kind of silly to me. The way I've been thinking about it lately, it seems self-absorbed in a way that's funny... like those people who take lots of pictures of themselves, and then post the albums online. But I think, more important than looking embarrassingly self-absorbed is the value of having my life recorded before I forget it. And strangely, perhaps, I have trouble keeping a journalesque documentation that is private and purely for myself. I'm not sure quite how to address myself. I address myself with thoughts. To put that into writing, for myself, just seems redundant. I need to at least feel that I'm explaining things to some form of audience. Hence: blog. All the better if people have a response.

Anyway, if there is a value to something, it's stupid to think about appearing vain. Or appearing much else. Because really, who the hell cares?

So. If you didn't catch on, I just spent six months in India. I tried to keep a record, but lack of time coupled with a lack of internet--further crippled by general weariness at the idea of even beginning to capture the enormity of everythingness, from experience to perspective-shifting--meant I didn't write much. I kind of regret that, but I can't think of much time I wasted, so I don't regret it too much. India's already got a strong grip on how I'm seeing everything now, so I'm sure it'll be bleeding into what I write for a while.

Jetlag is still very much a reality for me now, and I'm working it to my benefit--I'm going in to the coffee shop tomorrow morning to help open at 5AM. 'Cause that's when I'm up. Also means that now--at 8:15PM--I'm exhausted and ready for bed. I don't know how long it'll last, but I'm not forcing any changes. I'm lady zen, at ease with the ebb of the universe.

Until tomorrow.