Howdy to 85 Year Old Jen

So, I've always been intrigued by blogging. There are no rules governing what you can write about or how you write it. You don't have an English teacher looking over your shoulder telling you that this sentence is a run on or that one is a fragment. You can be as completely random as you want. It can be about something...or nothing, like Seinfeld. You can be deep...or shallow; serious or funny; joyful or melancholy.

All of this is great, but here's why I wanted to start blogging. First let me ask you this: Have you ever looked back on your life, say a few (or many) years ago like in college or high school, and felt like your memories were foggy? As if you can remember going to this event or party with this person or that person, but you can't remember what really happened? And no I'm not referring to an alcohol-induced fog. I'm referring to the fog that begins to cloud your memory as more time passes. I'm only 35...if I feel this foggy about things now, then what hope is there for me when I am 85? I'll be lucky if I can remember whether or not I've changed my Depends undergarments. I've realized recently that I should have kept a journal. Well, I had a journal in elementary school. It was incredibly profound. Every day I wrote about what we had for dinner. I think I would also write about playing My Little Ponies or what book I was reading (I read all the time when I was little.) But the really good stuff was never contained in a journal. Maybe that's best since there is no documentation that could be subpoenaed in the event of an incriminating historical incident. Nevertheless, I think it would be fascinating when I am 85 and have an empty slate for a memory to re-live my life vicariously through my journals. Add to this the fact that one of my aspirations in my younger years was to be a writer. So I figured if I start blogging, I can get my thoughts down and it will substitute for a journal of sorts. Maybe no one will read it, or maybe it will be boring, but when I am 85 and reacquainting myself with the thirty-something Jennifer, will I really care? Hell, I won't even know who my friends were by then. And if I do remember them, I'll probably be pissed off at them because aren't old people always mad about something?

This is why I wanted to blog. I did it...my first post. It was just as boring and pointless as I thought it could be. And I bet I've already managed to piss off my 85 year old self.