I’m up late again, thinking of all the things I want and need to do. If you’re curious to see how my brain compartmentalizes things, it happens in bullet points, like so:
As clearly evidenced by the very existence of this blog, there is a record of things I’ve written on the Internet, already. It may not bring in unbelievable traffic, but I don’t intend to delete this stuff—it’s apart of the World Wide Web for the rest of time. I’m pretty sure even if I tried to delete it, some format of my writings would still be accessible.
I say this because, while I write posts about things that I think about, as well as things that happen in my life, this isn’t necessarily recreational writing for me. While I enjoy typing up these posts, I’m referring to creative writing—fictionalized writing that comes from a part of my imagination that not a lot of people are privy to.