I get bored with online journals. I start out all rip roaring to go, and eventually fizzle out to the point where I can barely remember my password. Of course, by the time I’m racking my brain for clues to the forgotten password, I’m wanting to write again.

Maybe it’s not so much that I get bored with journals, as it is that my life has dull periods. My inspiration for writing about a day gone by, is nothing more than if my shoes matched my purse or how many red lights I got stuck in on my way home.

So I suppose I’ve come to that point where the monotonous drag takes a vacation and my-so-called-life airs a few new episodes.