This fin de siècle came about for a few reasons, the most practical being that I intended to have a weekend free of internet, which would put me three days behind on the blog. For 259 days I have posted the word blog, or at least begun the entry, on the date the word arrived in my inbox. If I was away on trips I made it a point to locate some web access—in an internet cafe, in the depressing "technology lounge" in the lobby of a Seattle hotel—so I could at least begin the post on the correct date. However, I craved a severance from the intricate machine of interconnectivity. And in order to do that, I had to break the pattern.
The thought of returning from my trip to three words in my inbox waiting to be analyzed, with another on the way in twelve hours, was nothing less than daunting. I could feel anxiety tightening my skin as I thought of spending the last hours of my four day weekend catching up on the blog. Instead, I went for a bike ride and finished watching the second season of True Blood. Then I slept for ten hours.
Now, of course, I do feel a bit guilty of abandonment. I intended to commit to this blog for one calendar year. But here are the circumstances:
1) In one week I begin the fall term of my second year in grad school, a term I anticipate to be my second most overwhelming (nothing will beat out that first clueless few months in the program). My coursework will eat up about 80% of my time;
2) I have just accepted an editorial internship which requires at least 10 hours of my focused mental energy a week;
3) I have a job;
4) I must sleep;
5) I want to have at least a few moments of free time for eating, showering, perhaps pausing for a moment, looking out a window, going for a walk, and if I'm lucky, maybe even having sex.
The word blog had to go.
But, like everything in life, this is an opportunity for a learning experience. I intend to write an essay on my experience with the word blog, focusing on my motivations for wanting to expand my vocabulary, my utter inability to do so, my relationship with words and language, and the realization that, as a grown adult, it is hard to learn and retain new things.
I'm thinking of calling the piece, "For Lack of a Better Term."
Thank you to everyone who read/followed/commented.
This blog (Candace Was Here) will live on as a venue for my written explorations into subjects of my choosing, at my own rate (whenever the fuck I please).