![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vcmwI've been holding out for years. I'm the proverbial late adopter. I started smoking more than a year after I turned 18, I never listened to punk music until I was almost twenty, and here I am in 2004 with a blog, of all things. Deep, calm breaths. This won't be anything like the time I tried to take a programming class and found myself the only person out of thirty who didn't actually care about being able to write in actual machine language. No. This will, somehow, be much more like the time I dropped out of college and ended up as a baker, surrounded by kindly older Mexican men who showed me how to make pretzels out of the dough. Undoubtedly the digital equivalent of kindly Ethiopian coworkers will offer me the digital equivalent of tasty bowls full of injera and stewed meat, and all will be well in my own little corner of the internet universe.
So I keep telling myself.
Pardon me if I pretend for a while that this isn't a high-tech medium. Pardon me if, instead, I pretend that these messages are actually being written on scrap paper, in crayon, and sealed into old green bottles with wax, and tossed into the ocean.
So I keep telling myself.
Pardon me if I pretend for a while that this isn't a high-tech medium. Pardon me if, instead, I pretend that these messages are actually being written on scrap paper, in crayon, and sealed into old green bottles with wax, and tossed into the ocean.
