I read a lot of blogs. I love getting a glimpse into someone else’s life, just to see what they think about, and eat, and do. Last night I was reading a blog that I’ve been following for a few weeks, and the blogger posed this question to her readers: why are you reading my blog? It’s a fair question (that I didn’t answer, because I don’t know why I read that particular blog, as it’s usually disturbing. I doubt she would have appreciated me telling her “I read your blog for schadenfreude purposes.” (which isn’t fully the case, but is probably part of it. It’s more like…staring at a car crash.), but someone else jokingly teased her that she should change her blog and write about pumpkin, and tv, and take pictures of her oatmeal. She was joking that she should become a “healthy living” blogger. The thing is though, that I love healthy living bloggers. I think they’re perky and cute, with their dog pictures, and brightly colored running tops, and their handsome Ken-doll husbands. They’re like the popular girls in high school (the nice ones, not the Rachel McAdams ones). This other blogger though, is like the scary rebel girl, who smokes under the bleachers, and gives herself prison tattoos with a safety pin and ballpoint pen. I’m somewhere between the two, not quite together enough to be one of the cool kids, but not so dark and twisty that I understand what’s going on with the rebel girl to make her the way she is. Which is at least consistent- I flew under the radar when I really was in high school. They’re both fascinating though. And I like pictures of oatmeal.