a day late but far from short

As we got in the car at 12:36am to come home from CurKat's I realized it was officially December 1st in this timezone and I had not posted. Well, crap. I hadn't made as big of a deal about this year's NaBloPoMo as I did last year, but it was still really important to me. Writing in general is important to me and this past month has been a good opportunity to force myself to make time for it. My big plans in August to "not break the chain" and write as often as possible completely fell apart within two weeks. And were this not the last night of NaBloPoMo, I would have normally dragged my tired ass to bed instead of the keyboard. But that's not really the point.

The point isn't for me to check off 30 days of my life each November and post something even if it's a joke or a picture or some snippet of "wah, this is haaaarrrd." The point is for me to fucking write. The point is for me to write when I'm tired, write when I'm angry, write when I'm feeling silly or even drunk. Because if I don't ever put pen to paper or finger to keyboard then I'm as close to being a writer as I am to being an astronaut who just hasn't been to outer space yet.

So on this November 30/December 1 cusp I feel like a writer. I've been a writer for 30 days. I've been a writer on the web for six years. I've been a lover of words for 30 years. I'm a writer, dammit. Hopefully I can say the same about myself on the first day of next month/year.