Before I left for Vanuatu, Melissa and I were discussing our newfound boredom with blogging. And by newfound, what I really mean is that we have been bored with it for quite some time, which is why every five seconds we try to quit. (Threatening to quit blogging seems to be a prevalent trend in the blogosphere. Personally, I can name several bloggers who regularly quit blogging "for good" and then start again about 2 days and 18 hours later when they a) download a new Matt Good song or b) make a jar of jam*.)
But we are so compulsively and habitually linked to the blogging process that we don't know how to live life without it. Despite the possible reprecussions of publishing the sordid details (or in my case, photos) of our lives, the constant disapproval of our parents, the enouragment of bearded stalkers who send photos of their grandchildren as a means of seduction, and the fact that blogging is probably reinforcing our social awkwardness, we don't know how to stop. It's probably because we feel the need to seek the daily reaffirmation of our comments section, where our self-esteem regularly drops a notch when there are less than 8 comments.
We need to be revived. So we thought of a temporary fix: Melissa and I decided that via our super secret shared gmail account** we would send each other on photomissions.
Of course, this never happened.
So, here goes Melissa. Photo mission #1. Let's make it something easy.
Take a picture of what you wanted to be when you grew up.
(Oh, wait, was that easy? I'm not entirely sure.)
I encourage everyone to participate. And likewise, you're all encouraged to submit your own assignments.
Or else, I might have to quit blogging. And this time I meant it. . .
. . .well, at least until 2 days and 18 minutes later, when I a) get drunk with my friends or b)take a really hot picture of myself rolling around on the floor.
*Bonus points to anyone who can name who these two people are.
** Oh, you may laugh, but really, what did you expect? C'mon, after all, we met each other via the blogosphere. Having a shared secret gmail account is hardly the tip of the iceberg when it comes to concerns about our normative socialization.