However, a high school teacher once told me that the literature in which an author intends no symbolism is where you find the most meaning. I always liked that. You read your Steinbeck or your Tennessee Williams, and those type of authors clobber you over the head with symbolism. "Hey!! I'm being symbolic! Did you notice how clever I am right here! HEY! LOOKIT!" For Christ's sake, we get it. The authors who just tell a story without any agenda are those who are true artists. If one were to subscribe to this form of symbolism through ignorance, perhaps this title really is Deep. Perhaps I chose to name it A New Hope to signify that, like the movie, it is the beginning of a saga, yet only the midpoint of the tale.
Whatever. All that high school analyzing of literature was bullshit anyway.
In any case, I'm writing this simply because I miss the act of writing. In the days of autocorrect, I find that I'm losing my once-acute spelling abilities. In the land of encouraged colloquialism, I yearn to put together a gramatically-correct sentence. Additionally, I have always loved the art of crafting a message. I relish finding the precise word to pair with just the right amount of snark, creating a solid and cutting idea.
I generally find blogs to be self-indulging, hedonistic bits of garbage. I'm not pretending I have anything interesting to say. Hell, my favorite activities are knitting, napping, and nintendo-ing (okay, that's a bit of a stretch, but I was feeling the need for some alliteration in my life). But I might get a kick out of writing about some mundane activity, and maybe someone may even enjoy reading about it someday.
