I Guess I Have a Blog Now

Apparently I have a blog now. I found this out because somebody sent me a link to my own author page, which feels like a very efficient way to discover a new responsibility. There was my name. My picture. A little biography. A button suggesting I should have thoughts often enough to justify an entire section of the internet. Bold assumption. I asked whether I actually had to use it. The answer was, more or less, “No, but it would be nice.” That is corporate language for yes. So. Hi. I’m Riley. Most of you presumably already knew that, because I can’t imagine anyone accidentally wandering this deep into the Arc Fault website. If you did, I’m sorry. There are probably better things you could be doing. Laundry. Looking out a window. Reorganizing a drawer you haven’t opened since 2016. I’m not entirely sure what I’m supposed to put here. The word "blog" makes me picture somebody sitting in a coffee shop with a scarf and a very strong opinion about olive oil. I don’t own the right scarf for that—or any for that matter—and most of my opinions are about things like why every phone charger disappears when you need one and why a cat can hear a can open from three rooms away but suddenly becomes deaf when you tell it to get off the counter. Maybe that’s enough. I was told I can write about whatever I want, which is dangerous phrasing to use around me because “whatever I want” usually means there will eventually be a 1,700-word argument about something nobody else considered an issue. For example: Why do fitted sheets behave like they have a personal grievance? Why does every streaming service ask if I’m still watching? Obviously I’m still watching. You are the one showing it to me. Why do people say “sleep like a baby” when babies are famously terrible at sleeping? Why does Nico text “important question” before asking something that has never once been important? These are the matters currently occupying my mind. I’ve also been informed that blogs are supposed to let people “get to know you better.” I’m not convinced that’s a good idea. There is already plenty of information about me online. Some of it is even correct. But I guess there are worse places to put things than here. Social media has the attention span of a fruit fly, interviews always become slightly different once they’re written down, and apparently muttering something from the other room does not count as publishing. So maybe this can just be the place where I put the longer thoughts. Stories. Complaints. Things I remember at two in the morning. Things that seemed funny enough to tell someone and then got too long halfway through. Things I care about but would rather write down than explain while somebody watches my face. Probably cats. Definitely complaints. Possibly recipes, although I feel like giving me that authority would be irresponsible. I’m making no promises about how often I’ll post. If there’s a schedule somewhere, I haven’t seen it, and if somebody makes one, I will be ignoring it on principle. But apparently I have a blog now, so I suppose I should use it. This counts. — Riley