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This sort of thing always ends badly.
One can take the idea of a biography literally, and recount events in order, or one can be grumpy and claim to hate writing biographies, when in fact the existence of a personal blog by definition belies that statement. We are always the worst and best tellers of our own stories. Best, because we have insight that no one else has; worst, because we are too close to our own stories to be truly objective. If we're lucky, we mix both sides enough to get something approaching the real story.
My name is Amy. I am in my early thirties. My profession will become somewhat obvious if you read over some of my entries. I have what has the trappings of a thoroughly normal life. I am married, and have
a mortgage and (muahahaha, not any more) two cats.
I grew up in very rural Arkansas, in the type of place that most people don't believe exists any more. I moved to Huntsville, Alabama, which I would describe as only slightly less conservative than the area around it. I have a love-hate relationship with my current hometown and home state. I have never been certain that I belonged here.
I am geeky. I am an itinerant writer; my friends both hope I'll eventually settle down to write The Novel and fear that they'll show up in it. I am a non-religious person in a very Christian part of the country. While I have a wide group of friends, I look back and am not sure I have ever been good about letting them into my life. I have a few people that I love fiercely, and paradoxically enough, those are the people I write the least about.
If you want short-form blogging, I keep a running tally of daily nonsense over at solecist.net.
I've written about a lot of things here since starting this site in 2000, but over the years one thing has become clear: while I'll talk about nearly anything, the details of my relationship with Jeff are peculiarly off-limits.
That's me: extemporaneous, covered in cat fur, and often maddeningly obtuse.
Why yes, I do drive my friends crazy. Glad you asked.