I haven’t posted anything anywhere in awhile. In fact, the elapsed time since my last post (eight months of absence that eventually stretched long enough to solicit  emails from tumblr urging me to return to my dashboard) occupies enough space to hold the both completion of the life that created the person who wrote the first post and the genetic material of the person (sitting in the equally cramped and cluttered corner of an intentionally homogenous space that has nevertheless been subjected to relentless efforts of personalization in the form of pictures, tickets, comforters, books, and food all purchased, printed, and processed at the same stores as the decorations cluttering the corners of the thousands of other rooms from which it seeks to differentiate itself) who is writing now.

Today, at 7:35 on this Tuesday night (a marker of time which is an entirely irrelevant point of reference since the 5 which it contains has just turned into a 6 before I’ve even finish writing the sentence in which it exists) I am writing once again. I’m considering this the inaugural post of my new blog career. Where my initial idea was to use blogs as a platform primarily for the expression of things that I deemed beautiful and thoughts that I deemed interesting enough to demand attention, my current idea is…

I guess my current idea is to use this blog to write my story. I’ve always loved a good biographical tale, if the diagnostic logarithm that Netflix subjects on its clients is to be trusted I particularly prefer those that feature strong independent female heroines. Based on this affinity, it seems that this attempt to spark a Renaissance of my internet narrative is my own way of putting the story of my own life up against the stories of the heroines I’ve always admired. Simply, is it a page turner? Or, more appropriately for 2013, is it worth lifting a finger to click +My List? Is it interesting enough to distract me from finishing my next response paper for Gender, Sexuality, and Pop Culture?

And I guess, it could also be my own way of exploring just what being an English major means to me. How is that a part of The Story of Claire? I guess that spending twenty-five minutes getting from “at 7:35 on this Tuesday night” to the period I am about to reach means that I spend slightly longer than normal manipulating the language of my blog posts. Maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t read any studies on that yet, but to me, that seems like a long time in a world where the TV sitcoms available for free on Hulu hover around 21 minutes in between increasingly-long-but-still-shorter-than-TV commercial breaks. But what did the last twenty-five-now-twenty-nine minutes of my life produce? Is my writing interesting enough to provide the structure of that life to which I aspire?

That’s what I’m posting to find out.


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