Sep 20, 2016

FROM THE BLOG DIARY OF EMILY HUNTER.

Entry #1: July 10, 2013

Okay, so this is supposed to be helpful in some way.  I’ll believe it when I see it, but here’s hoping...

First of all, I have to apologize.  I am not a tech savvy person.  I don’t have a facebook and I don’t tweet.  So me starting a blog is a little strange, I’ll admit.  I had an old email address that I just tried to log into for the first time in god knows how long, only to find it overrun with ads for male enhancement drugs and people from Nigeria trying to give me money.  Turns out you need a google email address to start a blog on blogger, so I guess I got a new one.  If anyone ever reads this, I guess you can feel free to drop me a line.  Unless you’re the prince of Nigeria, in which case, fuck off.

Second of all, I might have to apologize again.  One of the conditions ("rules" is more like it) of this blog, is that I’m not allowed to delete anything except typos.  So if I ramble or say god knows what, it’s here for posterity for all eternity.  Sorry to any readers out there.  Luckily, I doubt anyone but me and one other person will read this.  So no worries, imaginary readers.

So this is supposed to take the place of a diary; somewhere to collect my thoughts.  I’m supposed to add something every week if I can, no matter how big or small it is.  So apology number three if I bore you with an entry all about how I like sushi.

I’m also supposed to be as honest and forthcoming as I can be.  But, as I’m firing these thoughts deep into the web without knowing where they’re going, we’ll probably get there slowly.  I’d hate to see people at work look me up and read some of this.

Can I swear on a blog?  Oh, I guess I already did. 

So this is entry #1.  Numero Uno. So here we go on a tour of my brain.

I guess I should start with the introduction.  Hello world.  My name is Emily Hunter.  First time blogger.  Pleasure to meet you.

Where to go from there?  I work in a grocery store.  It’s a little place, family owned.  The owner is a pretty nice guy. I stock shelves and pretty much run the place on the third shift.  It’s great for me because I’m kind of a night owl, and I like my alone time.  Not many people come in, so I’m usually by myself. The owner doesn’t seem to mind leaving me on shift alone because he’s got plenty of security cameras, a police panic button, and the police station is less than a block away, and fully visible from the front entrance.  Still we’ve been robbed twice, never while I was on shift, and both times they caught the robbers.  Once as they left, once an hour and a half later.  So it’s perfectly safe.  (My mom doesn’t like me working there alone.  I’d usually not worry about her finding this and reading it, but she just got her first smartphone two weeks ago and has apparently gotten really good at using it.  So, just in case you’re reading this mom, there’s nothing to worry about.)

So I just got off work at 8, took the bus home and walked in my door at 9:15.  I got to work on this stuff, wrote my first entry, and now I need to go to bed.  Working third shift also means you miss out on the sun.  I never sleep as much as I’d like.  (I’m following the rules and not deleting that sentence.  Just so you know.) 

So signing off,
Emily