Beginning

    When I hear someone has started writing a blog my immediate reaction is one of disdain and scrutiny. You pretentious little know it all, I think, what gives you the right to assume that somebody else would actually want to read what you think. And then, of course, I go read what you think. So I guess it works. 

The whole concept of putting your private thoughts, ideas and opinions on the internet for the vast majority to see is terrifying. Immediately it conjures images of being the last chosen for gym class or being caught picking your nose while driving by the car next to you. But when these social anxieties climax to the point where I can’t imagine posting something personal, I like to think that whoever may read this will do so in the late hours of the night while eating Mini-Wheats in sweatpants and in between watching YouTube clips of cats. That fact fills me with immediate comfort, because at the very least, I have better cereal.

   
My inspiration for starting this cyber blogging adventure was twofold. First, I read a delightfully funny montage of thoughts by a former UVIC peer at champsblog.tumblr.com and I thought, people should be able to read my complaints and moderately amusing thoughts about life too. Secondly, I am going on exchange to England in January and wanted a way to document some of what I may do and the often amusing pitfalls that accompany travelling. “My seat didn’t recline at all”, “They lost my luggage”, “I ended up in jail because I thought the sign said pubic beach not public”. That sort of thing.

   
The desire to travel to England for my (hopefully) last semester of school spawned forth like a demon seed child from the womb of realization that I no longer cared. But what does that mean? How could you not care? Please tell me more about your mundane life you say? Well since your imaginary feigned enthusiasm insists, I will tell you this realization occurred during final exams of last year. When staring into the daunting face of a scantron sheet for Psychology 250: Child Development, a class which taught me nothing and only confirmed my suspicions that the plot of Baby Geniuses could never happen, I discovered I did not have a pencil. Pen after pen after pen with not an HB in sight I began to get nervous. Instead of simply asking the person next to me if I could borrow one from her, because that would involve unnecessary social contact, I dug deeper into my backpack. My hand weeded through receipts, my Chuck Klosterman book, empty travel mugs and a mildly rotting apple until finally I found a pencil.

   
Not just any pencil though, a large red pencil with a dull rubber eraser and flattened tip. The kind you used in kindergarten to practice your ABC’s and that couldn’t fit into regular sharpeners. It was at this point, as I looked between my post secondary institutionalized exam and my elementary adolescent pencil that I thought, I couldn’t care less. I had resorted to writing a test worth 40% of my grade with something 5 year olds could use. Something needed to change, I needed to reinstate my desire to learn and to grow. I needed motivation and purpose, at least enough so that it equated to more than an oversized pencil found in the bottom of my bag.

                     
What better way to do that then studying abroad and starting a blog?