Well. Here I am. It's been almost a year since I've written something . . . anything. Not only for the Times. I just haven't taken the time to write anything for myself recently. I just never felt it. I was never in the mood. I was too tired. I was too busy. I was too loaded with homework. Granted, I'm still loaded with homework and incredibly busy and tired, but today I just felt it.
First of all, I want to apologize for pretty much abandoning the Times. Originally, I thought I grew up and out of Whyville. (I think I still have, but that's a different story.) It just got too complicated and strayed too far from the original Whyville, so I pretty much left. And I'm sorry for that. Because the Times was the only really regular thing for me. Everything else was pretty much thrown at me, full throttle, at random. I had no regularity in my life, except the Times.
I feel like when I left the Times, I left it in the most random way possible. I left before, if you remember. But it really wasn't leaving, because I still wrote articles and I still submitted them. But I think it was the mental break, the break from me pretty much forcing myself to write something every week. I think that particular break so I could lift the weight off my shoulders. When I took that break, I was writing mechanically. I looked back on some of my old articles, and none of them have life. Information here, no personality there . . . I felt like I just typed a bullet list and took out the bullets.
So I think this last almost year-old break was good for me. I feel like I've improved as a writer without really writing anything. I've matured and grown as a person and I've felt different things that I'm sure will help me in the long run as far as a writing career goes.
If you recall, the last serious article I wrote for the Times was pretty much my declaring my love for the Pittsburgh Steelers. That was way back in January, before they were the first team to win six Super Bowls. Honestly, the only things I have written lately have been for school. I think the last thing I wrote was a ten page paper about Andrew Jackson. You can only imagine how redundant that paper was. The man only irritated a bunch of people and that's about it.
It's now December 7, 2009. It's 11:15pm. I'm cold and tired, and I really want to go to sleep. But first, I will make a promise. So if everyone could just hold out there pinkies so I can pinky promise this:
I, bluebag, promise to make a regular return in the Times.
Now if I break that promise, one of you has the right to . . . oh, I don't know . . . yell at me or something.
So for now, I think I'm going to leave it at that. I'll only put this article in the Times, because, although I have a ton of ideas and I really would like to sit here all night and just type, I don't think I should. Just let me know what you think of this. I don't want to waste my time writing something that no one's going to read.
And if any of you were concerned, just because Pittsburgh really has no chance at playoffs this year, just keep in mind that your team doesn't have six . . . SIX . . . Lombardi's.
Love, Kaila.
