I figured it out.

This blog started long ago, on a misty, grey afternoon in May of 2007. Back when I still had hopes that "the rainy season" would end soon, when I was cutting my bangs too short and when I thought I looked good in puffy-sleeved dresses. The first post was a flippant one-liner, something I agonized over because I had no idea what I was doing or why I was doing it. What was a blog? I had no idea. I read a few blogs, blogs written by close friends, and they were all kinds of different. I decided that blogs were a little like online journals - journals you wouldn't mind everyone and their dog's mother having access to. So I started writing a little online journal. I did not censor myself at all.

I don't believe in censorship as we think of it in regards to great literary works and newspaper articles written by educated journalists and things like that. But when it comes to self-censorship? Let's just say that blogging taught me a little about not writing everything that just pops into my head. Because what you say is what you say. But what you write? It's there forever.

So that was a good lesson.

In the last year or so, this blog has almost become ... I hesitate to say it because of how much it will sound like I'm squeezing it out of a velveeta bottle, but this blog has become my friend. And the fact that you read it once in a while? That you come back and read after I've taken off and disappeared for weeks on end? And you only ever say nice things. It's kind of amazing. I wish you knew how grateful I am to you. You bring me a tremendous amount of joy. Your comments put a smile on my face for hours.

All that being said, for as long as I've been writing here I haven't really known what I was writing about. It was actually a lot easier when I was in the obnoxious-wussy-whining stage because it didn't take any time or energy, really. I'd just open my blogger page, type something like, "as;lkdfjiouwe;LKEJ; ROIU WALEKRFJ;S LKDFJ A;SOID FU;LSKDFJ S;LKDFJ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" then write, "That's me screaming in type," and that was that. (Ah! Remember the good old days?) But since I've actually started caring about what I write and whether or not you'll like reading it, this writing has become something I'm really proud of. And don't say that I shouldn't care whether or not you like what I write because, Damnit, I am an ENTERTAINER. I LIVE TO ENTERTAIN. IF I AM NOT ENTERTAINING YOU THEN AS;DLKFJWOPIURELW K;AEJRA;SLKDF J;ASIODFUAOPSI EFJA;KLSDFJ!!!!!! I WILL JUST SCREAM IN TYPE ALL DAY LONG.

But I do care. And so I vow to never again subject you to that kind of mind-numbing irritation ever again.

So what am I writing about? Most of the blogs I read are mommy blogs written by young mom's raising little kids. Dooce is my favorite because she has the same sense of humor I do, and I like Girl's Gone Child's whole alterna-mom thing, but my blog isn't a mommy blog because I don't have kids. It isn't a blog about dogs, even though I talk about the crazy mutts a lot. It's not a blog about being an actor in New York because out of over 400 posts, only 30 are about acting. It's not about cooking or baking, electronics or photography, so what's it about?

It's a blog about family.

Did you figure this out ages ago and I'm only just now catching on?

Last year I tried to read this book my dad lent me, about managing one's time. I gave up in the first chapter because the book asked me what I would do if I found out I was going to die in six months. I didn't like my answer so I walked away from it.

Would you like to know what I would do if I found out I only had six months to live?

I would do whatever it took to spend every waking second surrounded by my family. I would move back to Los Angeles and I would spend every moment possible with the wild and beautiful clan that I was lucky enough to be born into. And of course, every private moment I'd spend in the arms of my wonderful husband.

Moving to New York taught me about family, and how to be a family with Michael. I don't know how to explain it except to say that until we moved to New York, until we went through that fucking awful year together and came out of it stronger and happier and more in love than I ever imagined was possible, we weren't really a family. Before we moved, he was my boyfriend, my partner, my team member, blah blah. We got married and that was great and relationships take work but are totally worth it. We spent years in couples counseling and had epic arguments and a storybook romance to keep it all worthwhile. We had all this great, awesome, important stuff. But now? Now he is a part of me. He is my family. Even though a forensics guy would never say so, Michael's blood beats through my heart.

This blog is about family.