Lost and found
Well, what do you know? I was messing around with Google — again — when I stumbled upon my old Tripod site.
It's one of my puny attempts at wordsmithing, back when angst was the norm. Reading them now makes me feel old. Heh, marriage and a precocious three-year-old bundle-of-energy have that effect.
Makes me wonder, too, how we leave traces of ourselves here on the net. How pieces of us are lost — archived as bits on some humming hardware in a cold, cold vault somewhere — only to be found again by invoking a line of tech-mantra and pressing "Submit" to the oracle that is Google.
Ah, this is just me, waxing nostalgic, and struggling through yet another boring uneventful day in the cube.
It's one of my puny attempts at wordsmithing, back when angst was the norm. Reading them now makes me feel old. Heh, marriage and a precocious three-year-old bundle-of-energy have that effect.
Makes me wonder, too, how we leave traces of ourselves here on the net. How pieces of us are lost — archived as bits on some humming hardware in a cold, cold vault somewhere — only to be found again by invoking a line of tech-mantra and pressing "Submit" to the oracle that is Google.
Ah, this is just me, waxing nostalgic, and struggling through yet another boring uneventful day in the cube.
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