The need for communication is strong again- my ambitious friend made another blog to shelter her reviews; with an innovative form, too. "What am I doing?" I thought. I dream of tattoos on my hands with references to writing but I don't write anymore. I've always been interested (and invested) to the private. I move past the thresshold of what is deemed acceptable to share. With friends, I overshare. People who care about me are anxious to tell me to preserve a public image, to keep myself safe.
I want to be exposed. I want to be seen. Myself and all the others within me deserve a space of expression.
"Pramcat" is not a word. It's an incomplete anagram me and a friend came up with while chatting furiously online. It can mean "thing" or "things" in our idiolect. There are several kinds of things that can stand for pramcat but they're in a place in my mind I have not explored fully yet.
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