The Sorrows of Young Rana?

It worries me sometimes to look over my past postings. I had not intended, when I began, to produce such an unhappy, bitter, angry blog. I had vague ideas about this blog being an outlet for the odd observations I make on a day-to-day basis, and to serve as an arena for hashing over things that I've already rendered into little bits with my friends but can't quite let go. I suppose that it is successfully serving the function as a space to vent, but I hadn't fully realized what a nasty collection of negative emotions I' ve been bottling up until now. (No wonder my eye is acting up!)

I suspect, therefore, that it will be a long time before this becomes much of anything besides an ego-blog. I keep thinking that I can perhaps wrest some lessons out of my experiences and that others may profit thereby, but it's still too raw. Each time I try, I can't sustain the role of analyst; it's like trying to look objectively at oneself in a mirror.

Still, I think it is good for me to continue, even if only for my own selfish benefit. It may be that there are some of you out there reading this who are comforted by knowing that you are not alone, or some may find reading my travails to be interesting in a train wreck sort of way. Of course, you may just find this all terribly boring (that's okay) or nauseatingly self-pitying. (I hope not this too much; I'd hate to for this to be the blog equivalent of The Sorrows of Werther. Ick.)

In any case, I think just having a record of this experience will be a good thing (and there's the historian speaking!). It may be (I hope) that I can look back at this and laugh, or at least with a sense of pity tempered with the knowledge that I-now was/is missing the big picture that was/will be revealed later.