I'm a writer, at least I used to be before I forgot how to do it.  How does one forget how to write? I got carried away with life, the daily dramas, the relationship nonsense, the random stuff that makes you always not have time to do the things that you should and could be doing.  I kept a journal, sort of.  It's really more of a haphazard conglomeration of random skips throughout the past 5 years but it counts for something.  It's time that I get back to what I know, to get back to putting my thoughts and feelings somewhere other than on that cold back burner on the oven of my overactive mind.  I once thought of taking my old journal entries and transcribing them to posts but that would be a disaster of epic proportions.  I'd be so busy changing the names to protect the guilty that I'd forget who I was writing about myself; so I'll let that sleeping dog lie in the shade of the rickety old porch.  This is me starting fresh, this is me being me, this is me putting things out there for whoever wants to know a little more  or for whoever is just so bored that they can't find any kitten videos to watch on the web.