You are like a little gift I get every day. Another person that is actually taking time to read what I wrote. It amazes me. And I wonder about you and what your daily life is like.
Isn't it amazing how the internet has made our world so small? It has brought me friends from all over the globe. Julie from Hungry. Jo and Claire from Australia. Teresa from Israel. Katie from
Isn't it strange how one can meet their "people" and become good friends but never really meet at all?
There is something to be said about seeking out "your people". You know, people who get you. People who understand why vintage brooches and old type writers give you happy tingles. People who know what it feels like to put on a new shirt only to be barfed on again for the third time. People who drink Red Bull and don't really consider damnittohell to be a curse word, just an exclamation. People who hate laundry... well you get the idea.
Your people. Your peeps. That's what I'm talking about.
Dear reader, are you my people? Or do you read this blog like you would read a newspaper article about the rising use of elicit drugs amongst suburban mothers? Interested, but somewhat shocked and mildly disgusted?
In my brain you are my people. And if we were ever to meet in person, we'd be instant friends. You wouldn't mind that I obsessively read tweets because you'd be reading yours too. We'd go out for macaroons and talk about how Etsy is just not what it used to be.
I want to know you. I want to know more about you. You know my quirks. Now tell me yours.
The comments are open.
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