One Thousand, Two Hundred

1,200 posts. It feels like a different number, but strangely, I couldn't tell you what it was, or even if it were higher or lower. Having done this now for a little over seven years, I don't know that it's done for me what I intended it to. I still don't feel like a competent writer or particularly adept at getting my thoughts together quickly. But still I chug away at it. I'm not sure I understand why. When I started, it felt like an attempt to build discipline. Then it took on the character of maintaining a new habit, and not letting it fall by the wayside. Now, it sort of feels like OCD. (In the snarky, non-clinical way that us laypeople in the public use the term, anyway.) It's morphed into a part of me, rather than simply a form of expression.

As a very rough, back-of-the-envelope calculation, I've maybe typed somewhere in the vicinity of half a million words into this thing over the years. And released them out into the ether to an unknown fate. In a way, weblogging isn't my cup of tea, because I'm a better responsive writer than an expressive one. (I suppose this is why so many of my posts are responses to things that I've read.) But, having started this, I don't know what finishes it. Perhaps 2,400 will give me more insight into that.