Dear Blog,
Remember how I used to write you? I'd sit down and tap, tap, tappity-tap away at least once a week and produce something for the masses (all 100 of them) to read. Most of my posts were okay, some were really good, and one or two were pretty awesome. Collectively they all gave me a sense of being connected to a worldwide community and they made me a better writer.
That was before Home School. Before my aunt's cancer. Before the call to be Young Women's President*.
That was back in the heady days of triathlons and novel writing, Tuesday breakfasts and people watching for blog material.
Back in the days before people got tired of writing more than 140 words at a time and having to wait hours--or even days--for comments. The Pretwitteristic Age.
I miss those days.
I think we should make an effort to get together more often.
Love,
Brittany
* Young Women's President, for those uninitiated in the ways of Mormon lay clergy, means that I was asked by my bishop (pastor) to be the president of our ward's (aka: congregation) organization for girls between the ages of twelve and eighteen. For me, this means planning weekly activities and Sunday lessons for roughly thirty girls and lots of other time consuming things that I don't get paid for. It is also the best church job ever, despite the fact I can't curse in this blog anymore because, you know, I'm an example now.
