I realized today that the first anniversary of this blog was two days ago. At first, this bugged me. "I should've done something special!", I thought. "I could have at least done something tongue-in-cheek! I am a failure!" Then I wept softly to myself for several hours before I realized that I was weeping into my keyboard and my laptop had caught fire.
After returning from the burn ward, I concluded that there wasn't anything of particular interest I could write about. I mean, what is there to really say about a blog that is nothing but me complaining about things every weekday for an entire year now? Not a whole lot. It sort of brings up the question of why I do it in the first place. After all, I have been quick to point out that my readership is essentially zero, so what the hell am I doing here? I honestly couldn't tell you. There is nothing motivating me to keep updating every day, and yet I do. And trust me, I have gone to some rather absurd lengths in order to avoid missing updates.
Perhaps I'm just writing in the hopes that someday, something I say will be of use to someone. I don't know how. Perhaps society will collapse, and some day my blog will be found by archaeologists, and used as an example of what life in 2010s America was like. Of course, that won't happen. But I'm writing anyway. I love all zero of you, dear readers, and I don't want to stop doing it. Would hate to disappoint you.
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