  Admit it, nobody wants to write a boring blog. Everyone wishes that their life could be fascinating, filled with anecdotes that illustrate the greater philosophy of life while unique in their content, style, and vision. But anyone who has ever read a blog knows that the majority of them are mundane, self-obsessed ramblings of the socially inept. I wish I could say that this is going to be one of the good blogs, the kind where I could write about urlLink pooping and it would sound like a trancedental epiphany.
But you know I can't promise anything. I'll tell you this: if you think it's boring, try to think of it as minimalist poetry. The real meaning is in between the words. There. Aren't I brilliant? But I worked too hard to figure out how to make the title light-blue, and the comments say clever things, to spare you from hearing about my uninteresting little life. You got here somehow. Blame yourself. So here are the facts. At this particular moment, I am twenty-six. I live in Minneapolis. I am supposed to be writing my thesis for graduate school, but instead I'm frustratedly typing meanigless text in HTML code (what the fuck does 'href' mean, anyway?). I'd like to say I'm in graduate school to write the Great American Short Story Collection, but it might just be a front for why I haven't found a real job yet.
I used to work for lawyers, now I work for academics, and I wish I worked for lawyers. Lawyers yell. Academics whine. I'm sure you understand. I am married and am in the process of buying a house, two things that my eighteen-year-old self would have scoffed at. Many of my friends are currently having children. Although I am not quite callous enough to scoff at that, it is something I feel like I can never do for many dark, neurotic reasons.
One of which is that am pathologically shy, which is probably why I started writing a blog, and probably why my posts have a strangely defensive tone. Does anyone want to say that they are lonely? 
