In case you haven't notice, this blog has been stark naked for a hearty six months.

I've hurled 63 boring-ass posts back to the inescapable realm where Drafts are left to rot. In those pieces I once saw value that I can no longer see. I admit, there were some noteworthy photos sprinkled here and there and I was sorry to let them go. But to be entirely candid, I was writing for the wrong reasons (A good friend of mine has duly reminded me of the time I published a dreadfully long essay on why I bought an iMac for its Magic Mouse).

I wanted to sound funny, but my humour was stale. I wanted to sound clever, but my lofty diction was pretentious. I wanted to purge my emotions, but my pandering inhibited me.

Now, I'm trying very hard to shed these burdens. I'm writing for my own sake. This is not to condemn purposeful, audience-specific writing. To me, blogs are meant to chronicle my daily happenings. A diary of sorts. So avert your eyes, you nosey prick.

You may be thinking, "Well, why don't your write in your bedazzeled, locket-sealed journal instead of accosting us with your pedantic complaints?"

First of all, I discarded my Klutz diary eons ago. Second of all, I like variety in my life. As much as I love my pen's ornate dance routine across cream-coloured paper (I'm unabashedly proud of my cursive), it's nice to give my right hand a break. Last of all, I can't write pen-to-paper when my nail polish is still wet.

This is an A+ idea because I need to flex my writing muscles regularly if I want to survive the second year of my university program. I'm so excited to gain five more pounds and lose five more hours of sleep on the daily. The good thing about starting anew at this time is that my blog has been inert for long enough that I'm sure my followers think I'm dead already (Surprise, bitch! I'm not dead!). Fingers crossed that this will not arouse too much attention.