My blogs

Lo siento, pero no entiendo.

Travels with Chelsea

About me

Introduction	NOTE: The following is in reference to the "i shall become myself" blog. Here, I am finally starting the long-awaited "blog." I still hardly know what this word means, but I've been told that to become a writer, I need a blog. And I desperately want to write. "Divine inspiration" literally means God breathing into someone, and every breath God breathes in me comes out in words. (My apologies to the author.) This--my words, my journals, my scratches on napkins, this blog--this is my exhale. Of course, even in private places, I'm insecure. Even in my best attempt to legitimize my own words, I nestle them submissively in the shadows of the greats. Even as one half of me absurdly hopes to be "discovered" a la undercover talent scout, or even American Idol, the other half just wants a good hiding place. And so, from the middle--half-naked, half-covered--I shout, and whisper, the wise truths and menial droll and the hot air and the divine exhalation and anything else I can't contain, into these scrap heaps of scribbles--these waste piles of words. And this is the dumpster. Happy diving.

Introduction

NOTE: The following is in reference to the "i shall become myself" blog. Here, I am finally starting the long-awaited "blog." I still hardly know what this word means, but I've been told that to become a writer, I need a blog. And I desperately want to write. "Divine inspiration" literally means God breathing into someone, and every breath God breathes in me comes out in words. (My apologies to the author.) This--my words, my journals, my scratches on napkins, this blog--this is my exhale. Of course, even in private places, I'm insecure. Even in my best attempt to legitimize my own words, I nestle them submissively in the shadows of the greats. Even as one half of me absurdly hopes to be "discovered" a la undercover talent scout, or even American Idol, the other half just wants a good hiding place. And so, from the middle--half-naked, half-covered--I shout, and whisper, the wise truths and menial droll and the hot air and the divine exhalation and anything else I can't contain, into these scrap heaps of scribbles--these waste piles of words. And this is the dumpster. Happy diving.

What reason do you have to believe the earth is flat?

I've never seen it look round, and I've only very seldom seen it look curved. Maintaining this belief has kept me from falling off the edge of it.