Secrets

I feel like Twitter is my secret life. Very few of my real-life friends follow me on Twitter, because very few of my real-life friends HAVE Twitter. I feel like I can just say anything, and no one will ever know. I can talk about my friends, and they'll never see it. It's rather liberating.

So I'm wondering whether I should make this blog part of my real life, or part of my Secret Other Life. Though I'm thinking how many of my real life friends would actually read this, and the answer is probably about 3, sporadically. I can't really imagine ANYONE following it religiously, friend or not. Except maybe my Mum. OK there's my answer: If I share it with people on Facebook, my mum will start reading it, and that's probably not advisable. Done deal, this blog is SECRET. Coz that's TOTALLY the point of having a blog.... meh.

Meanwhile, I'm about halfway through American Gods. Love it. Looking forward to reading moar tonight. I really shouldn't be allowed to read books. I just like it waaaayyyy too much.. Once I start reading a book (well a good book), I don't want to do ANYTHING ELSE until I am finished. I resent having to sleep, eat, socialise, go to the toilet... basically do anything except read. American Gods has most certainly had that effect on me.

Today I saw a Monarch butterfly sitting on the side of the road. I prodded it, and it flapped its wings pathetically a little, but wouldn't move. I expect it died soon after. It's funny how everyone finds butterflies so wonderful and pretty just because of these glorious wings that they have. They seem to forget that underneath the splendour, butterflies are actually just a gross creepy crawly like all the others. If cockroaches had pretty wings, would we admire them and paint them on mugs?