I felt quite out of sorts all day, knowing that tonight I would pull the plug on two years of my blog. I’m not quite sure why; it’s not as if my past is actually gone. Rather, it has moved back from the realm of exaggerated confidences to the ether into the confines of my mind, which is where most people’s memories remain in the first place. Still, I think the time was right. In some ways I don’t even feel like the same person who started that bitter diary two years ago: that person was all sharp edges and peevish observations, and today’s Kate is generally a nicer, and probably more boring, person. I’m not sure if that’s because I am clearly more settled in life, and happier, or if it’s simply because I am so constantly befuddled these days from a lack of sleep that I no longer have the mental acuity to be mean.
Christ, who do I think I am fooling with my butter-wouldn’t-melt routine? It’s not like I was recently born again or something (although then I’d have an excuse to attend my local “mega-church,” and wouldn’t that be fun). I’m still the same anti-religion, conservative-bashing, anyone-in-my-general-vicinity-loathing gal I’ve always been; I’m just so tired and busy with baby drool these days that I have less time to write about it. With that in mind, I probably didn’t need to start this other blog, but I really wanted to have somewhere to keep writing if the mood struck – it just needed to be somewhere that the floral part of my persona wasn’t attached. In fact, if anyone comments on this blog, or links to it, it would be fab if you, too, could skip references to my old persona and just call me Kate. Not that you intended to read this site, or comment on it, or link to it, or anything like that, but, you know, if you did.
There. I feel much better. It wasn’t like cutting off a limb, after all.