If any one faculty of our nature may be called more wonderful than the rest, I do think it is memory. There seems something more speakingly incomprehensible in the powers, the failures, the inequalities of memory, than in any other of our intelligences. The memory is sometimes so retentive, so serviceable, so obedient; at others, so bewildered and so weak; and at others again, so tyrannic, so beyond control! We are, to be sure, a miracle every way; but our powers of recollecting and of forgetting do seem peculiarly past finding out.

-Jane Austen-

Mansfield Park

This blog is my memory in so many words. It has really been my journal, containing my feelings, my thoughts, my passions, my worries, my joys. I can look back at it and see where I used to be and compare that to where I am now. A memory is such a powerful thing, and my blog, over the the last couple of years, has helped me to hold on and relive a lot of the emotions that I experienced. I can go through the archive and laugh, cry or just smile. But I must bring up one thing about a memory - it's in the past. Looking through my blog, I am seeing my past through new eyes. And, for the most part, I like what I see. I have no real regrets, only dull pain where real hurt once was. I feel that I have grown so much since I first began "So Much of Nothing." And I'm thankful for the opportunity I've had to voice myself. But things are changing. I'm finding myself busier than ever. I'm discovering the new things that life has to offer me. I'm seeing so many things in such a different light. And ironically, in the one moment in life when I should be writing on this blog the most, I find myself doing it less and less. It is so much harder to sit down at my computer and let myself go. I can't explain it. I mean, I have so much more to say. But nevertheless, it is as it is. I'm afraid my blog is going to become nothing more than collection of memories, a window to the past, a shrine to my final years in high school, a symbol of expression. The time has come for me to move on. In some ways, I feel like I'm leaving behind my baby. In other ways, I feel as though I'm merely sending off a daughter to college. But either way, I am finished. I am done. My hands are dry. Thanks for reading. It's been a ride.