I had brunch with two dear friends today, and we got on the topic of blogs and our lives and various related miscellany. Over the course of the conversation, I thought about how I used to write. A lot. Not necessarily well, not necessarily even interestingly. I was, however, a chronicler by nature.  

Part of that I chalk up to my navel-gazing, introspective nature, coupled with the fact that I love to share anything and everything. I'm an open book; I thrive on knowing things, remembering others' things, and feeling like my things matter to the people in my life.  

I also hate the thought of forgetting anything. I've been out of college for two, nearly three years now, and even though the experiences I had were so vivid, so memorable, so defined in my mind that I thought I would never forget those magic years, I already find that the little things have blurred into a pleasant, nostalgic haze. Now, going through the whole "twenty-something in a city trying to figure it all out" transition, I feel the same horror of losing the minutiae of what makes this phase of life so delightful and painful and ridiculous. 

So...MinneapoLiz it is. I don't know what to expect yet--except that this is going to be fully for me at this point. An open book, if you will, of a stage in my life I don't want to forget. We'll see how it goes...