Why I Will Never Be A Grownup: Part 1 of an Infinite Series.

I’m a big fan of honesty and not hiding things, so let’s be up front about something: I am a complete failure when it comes to behaving like a grownup.

I’m thirty-two. I have no fucking clue how that happened — my best guess is that time snuck by while my back was turned, on a rocket or something.

Shit, lost the thread already. This does not bode well.

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Blogging, or something.

I was going to call this post, ‘Shit they don’t tell you about blogging’, but…christ, every person with a blog writes a fucking post about how to be a great and successful blogger like a bunch of people I’ve never heard of [they’re probably mommybloggers, the popular girl clique of the internet that won’t ever notice me because I refuse to reproduce].

And I’m not going to wade through all that shit, because wading through it seems to require buying this helpful book, or watching these helpful videos, and…fucking christ, really? No.

But good job finding a way to make money from desperate people. I’m not gonna play, though.

I’m just gonna wade into this all ignorant-like.

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Social Network Anxiety

I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I’ve got more issues than a hoarder with a thing for magazines. 

If not?  I just did. 

If it weren’t for the internet, I wouldn’t be where I am today.  I doubt I’d be in Colorado, and I certainly wouldn’t have the friends I have.

There are problems, though.

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