Somehow I missed my eighth anniversary of my blog two days ago. I guess I was only thinking about it this morning, on the eighth anniversary of the National Bummer. I think this is a good sign. My blog is like a person that will always be around, unless it isn’t, and I can abuse it and take advantage of it terribly. Of course I would never treat a real person like this, but somehow this site has become corporeal for me, at least in my head–a collection of lips and assholes and squishy things and dead baby jokes and issues with comma placement. I imagine it as a seething mass in the sun like something in the corner of an unrealized Dali painting.

I will tell you, in year eight, the real reason I started my blog in the first place. I fell in love in 2001. Wrong time and wronger person. I don’t regret it. I would tell you that story, but it is like every time people fall in love. I realize now that this was a major nail in the coffin of my marriage. There were lots of nails before 2001, and I wasn’t always swinging the hammer. There were more nails after. Every day in a marriage is the Beginning of the End unless you can manage to shut the fuck up and go to sleep.

Being in love affects people in different ways, and it’s different every time, don’t you think? I fell in love and since it was so wrong it made me realize how lonely I was, in my marriage, and in my life. This is a cliche, I know, but sometimes we have to live them. Some of my most affecting moments have been cliches, because we have to step though the collection of human experiences, right?

I knew could use this as a confessional for all the horrible things I had done to those I loved, and those I did not, when what was behind the words was how desperately sad I was. Then I got less sad. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that will happen when you are 24. I kept going and then it was about my life, or a version of it anyhow. I was finding out things about myself and slicing away at all the layers. Unfortunately bullshit usually grows back almost as quickly as you can hack away at it.

Let’s have an exit interview or something, though no one is leaving.

What has happened in eight years? I suppose I could rattle off a summary or timeline of major events. I have gotten paid to write some, and in theory I am somewhat better now, but I’m not sure. It’s different. I have had low quiet battles with desperate scrabbling bitches, many of whom do not have websites anymore, through no effort of mine. Some people like me more and some people like me less, caused in large part by these words. I will leave it at: I am older.

What is this blog about? This blog is about being in love with words and yourself and other people, and also being very lonely, sometimes all at once. What I am learning is that, yes, we are always lonely, or at least alone, and it’s about how we deal with that. People leave us, feelings leave us, ultimately we are with ourselves. These words are part of me. This blog is about being with myself.

Is the author more or less of an asshole now? More, but I am better at hiding it and feigning remorse now. Also, slightly more reflective about things. The author is still smug about not carrying ads, though nowadays this is like being smug about not ever wearing pants. WELL DONE, EVERYONE KNOWS YOU’RE MENTAL AND NO ONE CARES.

What has this blog achieved for the writer? Catharsis. Paid work, sometimes. A skeleton for my crowded closet. Ego boosts and ego demolition. This blog has NOT gotten me laid. I hustle like a three legged donkey, I know. I am less lonely now, and more okay with times that I am. It is a little thread out into the universe of people all living their cliches, so thanks for that. Thanks for reading.