I do not have much to write about.
Life is pretty simple in my little slice of the world, maybe even a little boring.
However, I need to write. I see shapes and colors and patterns that others have already pieced together. I explore what has already been found. I write what has already written. It used to feel a sin to think words no others think and to put them down upon paper no others are to see.
Perhaps they are not words that no other think.
Perhaps they are words many others think.
What matters to me is that they are words that I think. I need some place to collect them; some place to go and see what I thought was intriguing enough to commit to some medium more lasting than neurons. These writings may range across the gamut of technology, video games, board games, art history, ramblings on the climate of micro economies in eastern European countries, or the migratory patterns of the western tanager.
Primarily, though, my thoughts focus on what I am actively doing – so obvious, I am unsure of why I felt the need to write that fact.
Whatever this adventure may be, I need to write. Chances are good that few people will read these words, but these will still be my words, and I may look at them at some point.
Today is Day One of a Thirty Day experiment. I am going to write a post every workday, no matter how small or trivial it may be. It has to have some kind of information, and it needs to add something to my collection of stored knowledge.
We may just be speaking alone to no ears but our own, but there is no transgression blacker than to do or think alone.