Beyond Me...

Thanks to my girlie, J, who I was a total bitch to in high school after I looked back on my yearbook (J, you were was one of the best friends that ever happened to me and I was a shit, I totally and freely admit it), I started this blog sometime last year (I think. I've had three beers that aren't Bud Lights so I'm a little fuzzy but heck yeah it's Thirsty Thursday. I could have started it last week, but I'm pretty sure it's been awhile.)

I love my blog, because, like when I wrote for The Bayonet, the newspaper of the Army post I have lived on for 12 years now, I write for me. I am surprised when I find out that other people actuallly read it. I guess it's low self-esteem or just the fact that when I write, I write for me, and if someone else happens to read it, then great for them, it just never strikes me that someone else will be reading what I write.

But as I hopelessly Twitter, I see tons of women who blog. And people read their blogs. And they are no more special or funny or sarcastic than me. Do I have an overinflated ego? Maybe. I'm okay with that. But I also think that I have a heck of a lot more to say than some of these women who actually get paid to have a blog.

Hell, you want to know what it's like to be an Army wife? Pay me, I'll write about it all the livelong day. Want me to blog three months worth of a deployment and know what it's like to be depressed to the point of immobility? I'm your woman! How about having a 9-year-old son who is cooler than you? Sign me up!

Maybe I'm a bitter witch. Probably, no doubt. I'm just amazed by these many seemingly vapid blogs that get attention.

Okay, it does sound pathetic after I read this, but whatever, that's who I am and I'm not sorry for it.