Don't Cha Know

I just wrote on here what, like yesterday? Yeah, I think so. It seems like I'm writing too soon. Like I shouldn't write too often--if gives the feeling that I have no life, that I find myself more interesting than I actually am (possible? I think not. I am fascinating, trust me). And maybe this should be more polished. We were discussing the high tech media age during my rhetoric final, specifically blogging and all the rest of that avant garde hoopla. Everybody's got a blog. Paris Hilton's DOG has a blog. I don't know that, but honestly, don't you kind of believe me already?

Anyway, the point of this entry is to say that I'm writing too soon. But why? Why is it too soon ("you tell me, doofus" you're thinking, "you're the one who said it. Stop being a hoser.")? Maybe it seems conceited? Goes against my sense of propriety? Perhaps I fear that people actually read this, even though I write it for myself (secretly hoping some Icelandic princess will read it and we'll become pen pals). I don't know. I don't want to delve into this as much as I thought I did. Not on HERE anyway. Two things: I wish I knew how to knit and I miss the days of doing service for NHS in high school. I kid you not. one time we transplanted like three rows of raspberries. I have no doubt that they all died. But I kind of want to do it again.