This is the part where I write about not writing about stuff. Fun, no?

Here’s the thing everyone. I kind of figured that once all this Peace Corps business really started happening, that once I quit my job and became a nomad, that once I was living out of a back pack and sleeping on couches in preparation for sleeping under nets—I kind of figured that once all of that stuff started happening that the other thing that would start happening would be that words would begin to flow from me like so much honey. Fully formed metaphors would spring to mind at the slightest provocation and smilies would leap from my fingertips with the speed and agility of tiny Russian ballerinas. Except I also figured they would be good similes, possibly even original. None of this ballerina business. Because really? Even as I typed that I was thinking what a total crap simile it is. Generally speaking, does anyone consider the Russians to be a particularly delicate people? Aside from that one guy? Personally I tend to picture Russians* as sort of a burly group, ready to survive the kind of winters that ruined Napoleon and Hitler. Although maybe I am confusing them with the East German swim team at that one Olympics. Or were they East German gymnasts?

And now I think I’ve illustrated my point quite nicely. It seems that I don’t have a freaking clue what is going on in my mind of late. I will sit down to put together a to-do list and before I know it I’m seriously contemplating Jennifer Love Hewitt’s career and how it never really took off.

Part of the problem might be that over the last 5 days I’ve spent approximately 39 hours in a vehicle. At first I thought all the alone time would be good for me, that it would give me some time to absorb all the changes going on in my life right now and really allow me to get some perspective…or something. It turns out that given the opportunity I will happily spend a 6 hour drive singing along with The Judds Greatest Hits and pondering the impact of America’s Next Top Model’s clearly growing budget on the quality of the show.

Really what I’m trying to say is that I had, and have, very high hopes for this journal (I refuse to call it a blog—the word is just too gross and I think if we all ignore it hard enough maybe we can forcibly eject it from the English lexicon…who’s with me?) and I realize that the more current entries haven’t exactly been cutting the mustard. This is my official apology for that, as well as a clear statement of my intent to improve, and stuff. I trust that at some point I will have something more interesting to say than “Oh my god life is like, so crazy!” and “Hey guess what I have been driving a lot and also packing!”

Until then, thank you fair readers, for putting up with my total lack of anything interesting to say.

And stay tuned for my attempts to Journal! Live! From our Road Trip! Because apparently life is not worth living if I’m not in a car for at least 47% of my day.

* A special note to Russia—truthfully (and I’m sure this is painfully obvious) I know nothing of your people or their general size. Most of my impressions of Russia were gleaned from my 11th grade history text, The American Pageant—a book so bad it was mentioned specifically in Lies My Teacher Told Me—so obviously you should feel free to discount them and/or just make fun of the next American you meet based solely on anything you may have seen on American Idol.