Life.

To start off, I'd like to inform you that this blog is only temporary, until I can get an actual domain with my original choice of URL. My first choice of URL actually pertained to cupcakes, because cupcakes nourish the soul and provide a deep satisfaction that cannot be achieved through any other means–– not even by stroking a very bushy moustache.

Which brings us to the question of why I started this blog in the first place. Twas not because I have anything of interest to blog about, i.e. cooking, needlepoint or any particular celebrity, but, in actuality, twas because I have a lot of crap on my mind lately and I want- nay, need- to let it out. Journaling might seem like a more appropriate outlet, considering that 99.9% of what I write will likely be of little to no concern to the rest of the world.

But journals are no good. I've tried. Messy, inconsistent, time-and-labor-consuming (not particularly, but comparatively speaking.) Blogging, on the other hand, fuels my laziness. All you have to do is type your crap into a handy-dandy word-processor, hit a button, and Blogger churns it out for you in a nice, simple, professional-looking format, with cute little columns along the sides. You can even add photos. No smudges, no scribbles, no sloppy glue jobs. My alter-ego, the organized, OCD one, is very pleased about this.

Really, blogging is exactly like keeping a journal, the one and only difference being that with a blog, the fact that other people in the world will see it gives you motivation to make it look nice and not write complete rubbish. However, this motivation only exists for people who actually have a following. Then again, they gain their followings by not writing complete rubbish. Whatever, I'm confusing myself.

Maybe the real reason why I'm writing a blog is because some hidden little part of me actually has something interesting to say. More than likely, though, everything I post on this blog will be absolute rubbish.

Before I conclude, I should probably admit that I write this with a British accent. Therefore, I hope that you, the reader (if you exist,) would do me the honor of imagining the words being narrated by John Cleese, because he's everything I'm not: a tall, funny, old British man with a moustache.

Stephen Fry would do nicely, too.