Eight days after my intial blogging adventure, and it's taken me this long not only to find time, but to find a way back to this exercise in meaninglessness. Or perhaps it was writer's block? God knows I have enough of that in other aspects of my life: the thesis that sits on my hard drive, yawning contemptuously at me, or the various bits and pieces that I should be doing for my day job.
Perhaps one day I'll say something interesting here. In the meantime I'll wonder why I would want to create an interior monologue and hang it out in the ether to dry.
Speaking of drying: having moved from (semi-)outback Queensland to Aotearoa New Zealand at the beginning of this year I still can't get used to the rain. It's been about ten days - until last night - since it rained here, and the locals are saying 'oooh, we need rain.' I saw more rain last night that I saw in ten months in my last earth-space. It's raining now. I could write purple prose about it and call it Rain Falling on Cedars.
If I'm blogging about the weather I must be boring. I'm a boring person. Welcome to the human race.