Well, I've been drinking all evening. The room is littered with empty vodka bottles. I spilt the tomato juice hours ago, but it makes no difference because I'm so hammered now that I can't remember what a Bloody Mary is, much less mix one. I have a bottle of Veuve Clicquot here, which I plan to open later by cracking it against the wall and pouring the contents into my mouth like a yummy, bubbling brook. Though I doubt I'd resemble this Brooks:
I love everyone. I love you. 'Cause you're beautiful, man. Dude – what's gonna happen after graduation?
Wait. That didn't sound right.
But I know I'm feeling sloppy sentimental for a reason. Something is making me drink until my blood alcohol level equals my age.
I've been on the phone all night, calling my parents long distance, and that's a bit odd, since they live three blocks away. The operator was nice, though, and she got me to stop crying. I played chess with a figure in black who carried a scythe. I defeated him, and he then put a cold hand on my shoulder and said, 'Happy Anniversary, kid.'
And then I remembered. I have been on Vox, Voxing to the Populi, for one year.
How well I remember my first post! It was rather high-pitched, somewhat strident, definately hysterical. It was like being alone in your new apartment for the first time, running madly from room to room, just to see how far you can go before the walls stopped you.
From the very beginning I loved my blog, my intellectual rooms. I could say what I wanted here, discuss things I never thought would arouse anyone's curiosity: postcards, history, fashion, dancing and the life force inspiring those things.
And people – strangers dropping in for a visit or any one of my Lovely and Attractive neighbors – really were interested! I still can't get over it. Because of TheCafeRoyal.vox I've done more writing than I have in years. Sometimes, when a post isn't scheduled, I still feel that if I at least don't start drafting…something, my poor, bobbed head will explode.
I spend hours here; I go to bed well after midnight – usually around 2AM. I write, I read, I visit, I learn, I communicate. What a delightful little playing field this is.
So I offer a toast: to a year of creativity, to a year of friends, to a year of communication.
You know, you guys are beautifiul.