This is all so new, and so old...

I'm sleeping with an old girlfriend these days. More than ex-girlfriend, really. She's still special, and apparently so am I, but I must admit to a certain amount of befuddlement. We're good together, in the important ways, but we always were. There's enough orgasms to go around, laughter, intelligent conversation. The building blocks of a functional adult relationship, I think. And yet, we have hushed discussions on whom we'll tell what, which friends should know what, whose parents would so desperately disapprove of this rekindled friendship. On some days we laugh it off, joking about what so and so would think, if they only knew.

She has a blog, an excellent one. I am a constant flood of competitive instinct. So. I have other blogs. None of the literary variety, which is the shortcoming I hope to address here. Forgive me while I find my stride. I need a voice, yes, but I also need to find a tone. My life isn't well-suited to the confessional variety--not enough happens. I need to be good enough to justify being obviously derivative. But here we begin.