Onwards.

This is a painful admission… but I am a blog slut. A blog slut. There. I’ve said it.

Yes, I am a self-confessed blog slut. I’ve had more blogs than your town’s bicycle has had rides (well, strictly speaking this is probably not entirely true) and each has been as lacklustre as this one promises to be. Over the past seven years, my infrequent blogging habits have left numerous readerships with complex abandonment issues and have probably contributed to sending many a psychiatrist on an expensive holiday in the Swiss Alps (this is probably not entirely true either, for all I know they may spend their holidays in the Caribbean).

I’ve tried to work through my blogging issues. It hasn’t helped. Perhaps it’s because I like the position of power I’m in; I can give you my words but, at the drop of a hat, I can take them away again (sorry, what was that? Oh. Yes, I do intend on getting out more this coming year, really). Perhaps I do it because I am a follower, but then that isn’t necessarily true because whilst everyone has been screaming over Panic! At The Fucking Disco, I have been uttering voodoo-like chants and incantations (I don’t really hope they die. Honestly).

I think, most probably, I do it because I like to pretend. Because I am a dreamer. I like to pretend I can write and so, like most people who can write, I decide that this blogging affair sounds like a good option. However; reality sinks in at about the fifteenth post and I realise I can’t actually write. At all. And then the delete button looks amazingly irresistible.

But, whatever.
[On a side note: I despise the word 'whatever' and its seemingly most common use today. It's utterly, utterly infuriating. It makes me cringe. I know a girl who uses it frequently in her arrogant little way, complete with the flick of her blonde locks and roll of her soulless eyes. I want to kick her in her skinny little solarium-tanned shins.]

So. I give myself eighteen posts.

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