I am not a writer

So it's official; I've become so enamored with my own inane little scribblings that I will now publish them online for all to see. Right now, I'm not exactly sure what this is, let alone what it's going to be. I hesitate to call it a journal or diary; actually, a blog belies the very notion of a private diary, since the author is constantly putting his/her words on display. There will always be an element of performance here, however slight. Unless I get really drunk...which is altogether likely.

In any event, don't labor under the delusion that you - the reader - will be digging deep, peeling back the layers and getting to know the real PJ. I am not here to bare my soul.

I am not a writer. I do not call myself an artist. I write. I do so compulsively, and with no expectations from anyone else.

So it begins. On a Sunday in September, appropriately enough. Let's hear it for autumnal disenchantment.