Fear of Commitment

So, this blog thing...exists. Nagging at me, begging to be pulled and prodded. Somewhere in between a hangnail and a tumor on the scale of potency. Ideally less harmful than either one. Am I ready for the love affair with the virtual world that is blogging?

I was never one to keep a diary. I tried. I failed. I have a lot of gorgeous, colorful journals with approximately 4 1/2 pages written in them. How many of the poet-bloggers kept a journal when they were younger? And do they still, now that they have blogs? I write articles for a local paper, DC North--first food, then nightlife, now a regular column on the elusive "DC Scene." I may be slowly migrating toward the land of Carrie Bradshaw. The other afternoon, I took the time to seriously construct a pitch for a story to...Cosmopolitan. (Long-distance dating tip #2: ask him to give you a blanket as a gift, so you can think of him even while curling up on the couch with popcorn and a movie....) So, yes, clearly, I have excess writing energy that should be better spent. But if I'm going to do it, I'd like to do it right. Which means updating regularly, with purpose, and making it less about show-and-tell and more about a meaningful dialogue.

Blogs, I have noticed, have distinct personalities--and pulses. I was always told that I had to keep a houseplant alive for a year, then a pet, and only then was I ready for a "real" relationship. Where do blogs fit in on that hierarchy?