I've been thinking recently about why I don't post much anymore. Being the Libran I am, perpetually torn between hopeless romantic and cynical realist, I have two theories, both of which are horribly boring so you should stop reading now. The first is that I am far too busy to keep up this silly exercise in self-importance. I'm an activist, damn it, and I care about the struggles of others. Of course, that can't be the real excuse because everyone's favourite post-coital discussion topic rarely, if ever, blogs about his life. I'm sure that if I really wanted to blog, or was genuine busy, and, therefore, had shocking tales which were recorded in all major media outlets both foreign and domestic, I could find something other than myself to write about. I have two wonderfully eccentric housemate who (probably) wouldn't mind if I fabricated tales of our adventures, which leads me to the other entirely self-conscious reason which I haven't been blogging: I don't want to point the finger anymore. In my youth - a stupid phrase at the best of times, but when you're twenty-three it is just ridiculous - I used this place to leave messages and let everyone know with a big ugly sausage finger how horribly angry I was at individuals, how hurt people made me. Though I enjoy the vast range of human feelings which can be expressed through emoticons - I really would have used that "broken-heart" emoticon in every other sentence - I am far less emotastic now. I really am not angry anymore, except at the patriarchy and the military industrial complex. (The MIC was always my father's favourite phrase when he'd had a couple. Everything got blamed on the military industrial complex. Mine is patriarchy. I am my father's daughter.) I was watching SNL tonight because, as you all know, my guys at The Lonely Island now write for the show, and James Blunt was the musical guest. He sang what I assume is his second single. The song really isn't that great, but it made me remember, which is a dangerous thing. Yet, this time, I remembered the good and I have one last pointed message to leave to the only man who knows the correct response to "Boo, Team Alysia": I still miss you sometimes, but really only sometimes. Take care of yourself, or just don't die, okay?

P.S. I knit my art teacher a muffin! It's friggin' sweet and Laura said she'd take pictures of it and I don't care if I have to open one those freaking flick'r accounts, I WILL have it on my blog. A muffin for pete's sake! The story of why I would knit my art teacher a muffin will accompany the picture. I'm just building up hype.