Resurrection

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I deactivated my Tumblr account a few weeks ago, and then posted on Facebook that I had done so, because I didn’t want to lose touch with anybody. A friend messaged me, and told me “so and so says you’ll be back – so does whatshername”. I laughed, and agreed – yes, I probably would be back.

Guess what. I’m back.

The truth is, I’ve missed the people I used to catch up with. Yes, the platform itself annoys the hell out of everybody that uses it (often to the point of deactivation), but the people are awesome – or at least the people I’ve been sharing stories with for the last however many years.

Of course this is me we are talking about – so I haven’t just created an account. I’ve migrated the whole of this year in from the mighty WordPress, and gone through every single post with a photo, making it all look just-so. And yes, I was supposed to be getting on with something else at the time. If only there was an Olympic “tinkering” event.

A wonderful friend from the WordPress world likened me to Seinfeld yesterday. I’ve only seen half an episode of Seinfeld ever, so have some homework to do. I’m not sure where I’ll find any episodes that I might download legally, so will tell the internet police to look the other way for a few minutes.

I gather Seinfeld had a knack of turning every-day situations into entertainment. I wonder if he ever made ditching and re-opening blogging accounts funny? It also strikes me that telling stories about everyday life requires anything at all to happen in your life – which could be a problem, seeing as daily life for me typically revolves around filling the washing machine up as many times as possible.

Changing subject entirely, my eldest daughter is 17 today. I’m still wondering how that happened. In my head she will always be the little girl in flared jeans and a stripey polo-neck, running around the garden in her wellington boots, talking to her dolls. Of course she’s also the manga fanatic that drags me to comic book stores, and to otaku events in London – primarily as “the bank of Dad”, but also because we laugh at the same idiotic things as each other.

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