It's been a long time since I thought about how much my blog has become a part of my life. If there was ever a time where it was a separate deed on its own, I can't really remember when it all blurred into a single aspect of my daily ritual. Yet this blog, these written words, the frozen thoughts and feelings of time's past has become a source of comfort in these troubled times. The symbiotic relationship I have with my words has provided me with inspiration to keep going even in the darkest, loneliest times. It does make me wonder at times, as much as my life burns the flames behind the words I write, how much of what I write drives me to do the things I do in life? It's understandable that in any case, my blog is fueled by the experience I have being out there, thinking, feeling, doing. Yet, by writing, by trying to find a source of inspiration to write, I have inadvertently forced myself to live life as a means of filling in the blank spaces in between those words. Just as much as this blog is about my life, my life has become my blog. When you look at it that way, I don't know whether it is a sad thing to admit. That your own blog has become one of the sources of inspiration for living on a day to day basis. Yet at the same time, when you think about it, it doesn't sound so sad. Given that I still believe blogs are a reflection of one's self, there is nothing wrong with a little written introspection.
