If a blog is supposed to be a on-going narrative, then what the fuck have I been doing? Have I been saying everything that’s on my mind, or have I been wanting to make this blog too much of whatever else and not enough of me? Hannah is not 28 anymore, she’s 34, married, and sometimes wishes she wasn’t. She’s burned out, broke, feeling like her marriage is falling apart, and maybe isn’t too concerned. Maybe she’s more concerned about why she’s not moving ahead in life, earning less than she was when she was 28, or why this third SLH book is not coming as easily as the ones before it. But does anyone really care about the books anyway? Is anyone aside from the porn and pharmaceutical spammers even reading this blog?
Whatever. I’m not going to make this into something I’m not. I’m not going to add more sex or drama when there is none. I’m not going to write fiction. Fiction moves faster than non-fiction, and this is just me. Sometimes wishing I could dislike him because it would make things easier. But you can’t dislike a man that goes out of his way to buy you a mini watermelon at 9pM.