I don't know what to write about.

All things considered, I could still "win" this thing if I missed a day. But, who said this was a contest? It's more of a "this is a thing we want to do, let's draw strength and encouragement from each other". Kinda like a diet buddy, but with words instead.

I'm forced to wonder, however: what exactly am I getting out of this? Sure, for the past year or so I've wanted to write about serious topics that weigh on my mind. But, instead of actually trying to put that stuff to words, I'm bullshitting a paragraph of text. The weird thing is, as I'm typing this, I know that all this rambling will come off like some disturbed and emo teenager on LiveJournal in the mid-00s.

I was just telling my mom this evening that I write this blog for me. So, given that, why should I care what words I lay down? I'm me and I understand the context within all this is written. Of course, come next year I'll have lost that and be just another outsider looking in with only a vague recollection of the times my current self was going through. But, even given that, it's still me so why should I worry?

Aha!

Despite this notion of writing for my future self, I'm fully aware of the publicness of these ramblings. Any Joe Schmoe (or people I know and know read this blog) can and will happen upon this post. If they've made it this far, they're wondering "okay... just how crazy is Matt?" And I'm aware of all this.

As I continue to type.

Fully knowing that eyebrows will be raised. Raised in a curious pondering, perhaps a tinged with a little worry.

...

Belinda blinked.