Harumph.

This is an awful blog.
For a start, it's PINK. I don't have anything particularly against pink, honestly, just that it is not me.
Its a disguise.
One that didn't work.
One that chafes badly.

The worst thing about Google buying everything up and then making you combine your identities, attach this log-in to that, that persona to this, (aren't they after Twitter, now?) is the way that the social media world is shrinking. Real blogging, real anonymous dumping of passing thought or irritation, is being squeezed out by the way that this increasingly homogenised, monotone facility is making us traceable, locatable, identifiable.

Once the core of my blogging friends were the holders of my silliest secrets - the ones that would make me too odd, too vulnerable, in real life.

Now it seems that instead of being a freedom, this is the one place where we should temper every single word we say; well, write.

We stand to be judged. We stand to be held to our words, to be analysed by employers, employees, friends, would-be enemies, nosy neighbours, our children's friends, our children. For something we certainly never addressed to them, even for something we thought, very briefly, days, weeks or years ago. What about change? Growth? What about being all things to all people, to having many hats? What about this being an outlet and not a display case?

That's not on.

Besides which, if I MUST be pigeonholed, categorised, dismissed as mono dimensional and fixed in time and space, then I refuse to endure it in pink.