Blogging is such an interesting experience for me.

This little spot on the Internet started nearly two years ago… when I was less than thrilled with my professional challenges, emotionally sorting through the wounds that come with the death of a long-term relationship and the soaring wings of a newer, better one, and looking for a place to store little tidbits of joy.

For me. This space originated as a space that was, by all accounts, just. for. me.

Recently, I have been struggling with the notion of what blogging has become for me.

A space still to store my own little nuggets of joy? A spot to sort through my dissheveled thoughts? A dumping ground for Kerouac-or-Atwood-esque ramblings? A community? An Internet neighborhood?

And I decided — briefly — that I was going to quit.

I thought about the process of quitting. What that would mean to me. How I would do it.

I had decided I would have to print all these pages upon pages of my life. My virtual quasi-scrapbook of sorts. You know— the kind that gives just enough away.

That was the only thing about the process I had decided to be true. For me.

But then. Then. Then came this past weekend.

And in the blink of an eye, in a large house in Austin, Texas, the smiles and laughter of blog friends turned real-life friends completely changed my mind.

Tumblr, I cannot quit you.

And over the course of the next few days, I’m going to tell you exactly why.

But know that the first reason is this: I am running on days of choppy sleep, at best… my handsome (LORD how I missed snuggling up to him at night) future husband is sleeping soundly beside me… and all I seem to be able to do (at 1:30 in the blessed-friggin’ morning, when I need to be up at 6-something) is grab my iPhone in this pleasant darkness and check up on this little Internet world.

Oh Tumblr, I can’t quit you.