All right.

How many times have I felt so unusually, mildly creative that I've started a blogger account, only to get so frustrated by the ugly blogger layouts and by my old, glitchy Canon Rebel XT that I abandon it within the week? Many. A lot of times. And here I am again. This blog will likely be worthless, because I think that the only way for me to really realistically post anything online, it will be primarily consisting of the written word, and that's a dying medium, right? And it's not even like I'm going on a mission trip or doing anything exciting or philanthropically that's worth blogging about. I'm just me, here.

And being "me, here" is maybe what I'm trying to explore. I used to write every day, even when there was nothing to write about except my being overwhelmingly sexually frustrated about boys in my precalculus class. I took a creative writing class at my university over the Winter 2014 semester and loved it, but also failed to continue any creative output as soon as the semester ended. So let's try this.

It makes me sad to think of things like the hundreds of journal pages devoted to pubescent douchebags and the zero that I have devoted to my father, who passed away completely unexpectedly in May. And no, this isn't going to be a blog about my facing death, but maybe me just facing how essential it is to constantly be creating, whether it be explicitly art or simply just productive thoughts, regardless of whatever shit life decides to throw at you.

So let's try this.

Finally, a photo of myself and my other half; for good measure. 

-R