I really miss the days of Xanga.  Boy, that was such an excellent outlet for me, and now it feels as though I cannot write in this thing as candidly as I could on Xanga.  Xanga wasn’t serious.  It wasn’t a big deal.  Just friends read it, and people on the Web couldn’t access it via google.  No biggie whatsoever.  No expectations.

Sigh.

Journalisming, as I like to call it, is hard.  Proving to be harder than I thought.  What happened to my writing skills?  Did I grow out of them?  Or did my millions of college term papers grind them out of me?  

Without really realizing it, I think I have started to keep a tab of my life regrets.  This doesn’t really coincide with how I have chosen to live my life, which is without much of a plan.  And I don’t have many regrets, just two that I really can look back on and honestly wish I had done differently.  One, really, to be honest.  And I can go on and say I don’t regret anything til I’m blue in the face, but that doesn’t erase this slowly-forming list in my head.  And it doesn’t make me not afraid of making more mistakes.  

I really want to go swimming.  I want to feel cold salt water drowning every inch of my body, and I want to move in it, slowly, twisting and feeling it.  For now, a bath will have to do.