It's a bit pointless — completely pointless, actually. She doesn't monitor my online activity, and I don't plan on giving her the link, so in all likelihood she'll never see this.
But over the past few years, I've been committing countless tiny acts of rebellion against her, things I know she'll probably never know about. I do it because then I can look her in the eye and smile and know that I'm not the person she thinks I am, or who she wants me to be. It's become my identity.
Last night, I heard my mother talking to a friend on the phone. "Why would anyone start a blog?" she asked. I expect the question was rhetorical. "Especially if all they're doing is talking about their life," she continued. "Who wants to read about some stranger's day? How narcissistic is it to think that anyone cares?" I listened to her talk and thought, How narcissistic is it to think that blogs are written with you in mind, Mother? And here I am starting a blog because of something she said. Isn't it ironic?
I'm completely new to blogging, but here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to write about my life here. I'm going to draw pictures and post them here. Maybe other people will look at this blog from time to time, but I'm not writing it for them. I'm writing it for me.
I'll start with who I am.
I live in a small town in upstate New York, not far from the Hudson. The name of the town doesn't matter. It's unremarkable. It could be any Northeastern small town you please. I’m sure that I myself — despite the many things about myself that I’d like to call unique — am unremarkable too, and might as well be any homeschooled small-town fifteen-year-old save for a few minor details. My name is Patricia Jacqueline. Call me Jack.
You'll learn the rest as I go along.
One final note: This blog's title (at the time of this posting, "Carry the plague! Amuse your friends!") doesn't mean anything, really. It's just a nonsense phrase that stuck in my head. I expect to be changing it soon.
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