A blog

I'm still not sure why I'm starting this blog. I don't really need it; I have people to talk to, I have stories to write, and I even keep up a blog especially for strange bits of penmanship that cannot truly be said to be fiction. Clearly, it's not enough. I feel like I'm missing essential paths to guide my thoughts out into the world, lest they keep bothering me. And maybe I'm just curious to see whether having a blog would be noticed.

I could post at CM's much-discussed blog, and just maybe one of my closest friends would find this blog. Other than that, it'd be a fine challenge for anyone, if they ever even suspected I kept a blog to begin with. I don't really read other people's blogs anyway (except for CM's, but who can blame me), so I wouldn't hold it against them. In fact, I'm not even sure I want them here.

This is my spot, these are my thoughts. Theoretically, I can say whatever I want here. It doesn't explain why I'm posting in English, but... well, that's probably just some silly cry for readers. As an author in heart and kidneys (as the Dutch expression goes), I can't very well be expected to limit my number of readers to an absolute zero for anything less than a diary. And since I don't keep diaries, this will do just fine.

Should I use this place as a proper diary, though? Should I actually describe my life's events here? Something in me screams no, but then this blog would be no better than the vague outlets I have carefully spread over the net. Also, I wonder if 'We Feel Fine' will pick up on this blog. That'd be cool. But I'm drifting off topic...

My name is Erane, a name contrived by my calculator, donated to a now-discontinued character, and adopted at my students association. I'd call it a fraternity, were it not a unisex, alternative and equal-rights sort of thing.

I'm a first year student in Cognitive AI, and doing terribly at it. It's not that I'm bad at it, or that I don't like it. I simply don't have the drive for it, not while my energies are constantly being sapped by my lack of housing.

In America, there is this lovely invention they like to call dorm-rooms. Students there don't have to find their own place through strange internet sites, or advocate themselves to their prospective 'dorms' hoping to get a spot. And I'll bet students there can simply fill out a form saying they can't share a room with smokers, and get placed just as quickly. Are my problems dawning on you yet?

I'd probably write a lot more if my free time had a constant setting, or the computers I used could at least all understand Word files. Maybe I'll find a way to make my projects reachable online, so I can work on it from a Mac too.

Because yes, I am a writer. After a few missers in the fanfiction genre, I'm easing back into regular fiction. Above that, I'm easing back into my native language (Dutch) for these stories, if only because most of them are merely character summaries for tabletop or liveaction. I mostly just write people and some events; places and the like are still quite a challenge, though romantic scenes are the worse. Up until last saturday morning, my romantic experiences mounted up to zero.

Hm. Do I want to talk about my fresh dip into romance?

No, I don't think I do. It can hardly be called romance anyway, even though all the ingredients were there. It felt more like just a bit of fooling around. I know he doesn't see it that way. That makes it all a whole lot harder to linger on.

Moving on, then.

I am going to say something I have never admitted to anyone in my life.

Ever.

I hate brushing my teeth, and will avoid doing it at all costs.

I think I brushed my teeth about a week ago, but I'm not sure.

Not only do I detest the taste of mint with a passion (which is why I now have strawberry-flavoured children's toothpaste), brushing my... hm. Does English have seperate words for cutting teeth and grinding teeth? No matter. The ones at the back. Brushing them makes me feel sick, like I'm about to throw up. Needless to say, that isn't the best motivator.

I've missed my dentist appointments for at least a year now. I know I have cavities; I can feel them with my tongue. A while back, I actually lost a small chip of tooth at the front-top, though you can't really see it unless you know it's there. And heck, with my teeth as yellow as they are, I hardly flash them in a big grin to everyone I meet. Puh-lease.

And yet I've recently been complimented for my teeth. Complimented! All because I had bracelets in my pre-teens, when I didn't conveniently misplace them... Madness!

...

Yes.

I do believe I've figured out what to do with this place.

If any find it, fine. If any read it, suits me. If anyone feels like they ought to leave a comment, be my guest. I might even reply, though I'm still not sure whether it's more unethical to reply or rather not to reply. But I'm not going to wait around for it. I'm not reaching out for help, or trying to persuade people of my opinions, or anything of the sort. Much as I'd enjoy writing for Slim (when he gets that Stetson, I demand pictures), I am going to write for me.

And maybe Moshie, if she happens upon this place. I'll indulge you, old friend.


Erane

P.S. This feels wrong. I need a signature sign-off greating. I'll get back on that...