What's in a Blog?

Okay, I’ve already screwed this thing up. First of all, my teacher is a Ms. not a Mrs. and she did not like reading everyone refer to her as Bo-Bo. If we call her anything, she said, she'd rather it be Evelyn. Second of all, I was supposed to include some personal stuff about myself for the first entry, like where I live and who I live with and blah, blah, blah. Why? Who cares? Does it matter if I have air-conditioning or a little brother? Does it somehow affect my thoughts and dreams? And for the record, I have neither.

The whole point of blogging is the anonymity. I could be anyone. I could be rich, poor, skinny, fat, in Paris or Tampa, alone or not. I could be homeless. Or blind. Or a guy. It only matters what I have to say.

Do I have anything to say?

I don’t live in anyplace special. I have a regular room in a regular apartment in a regular town. I have one sister and zero parents. I have no pets, although I once brought a turtle home from kindergarten in my backpack and I put him in the fridge, thinking there would be plenty of food in there for him to eat and, well, I’m sure you can guess what happened. He fell into a bowl of strawberry-banana Jell-O my sister had made and drowned. Lesson learned, children: turtles should not be refrigerated.

Do I have anything to say?

I haven’t done anything special. I’ve lived fourteen years pretty unspectacularly. I never won a talent competition or tutored underprivileged children or donated a kidney. I rode my first bike without training wheels when I was five. I dove off the high board at the Y when I was eight. I got my period when I was twelve. That’s all pretty normal from what I know about normal people.

Do I have anything to say?

I haven’t been anywhere special.
I don’t know anything special.
I don’t own anything special.

Do I have anything to say?

I don’t know. Yet.