Well, I couldn't believe was going to do this, but it turned out to be a lot easier than I expected. 

I'm switching over to Wordpress. 

Of course, I'm going to keep my account open here, since I have dear friends who keep Friends-only accounts.

The rest of you, I'm adding to my blogroll.

I'll be updating here for the next two weeks, to give folks a chance to change their links.
 
So, starting July 6, I'll be posting only here:  http://mayiwrite.com/.

You can check it out now. I've already transferred all my entries. It didn't take very long - just a couple of hours, tops.

Five years is a long time to stay at a place, folks. It's time to move on. I hope I don't lose you.

I can't believe how many ways that applies to my life.

 

Well, I went for a run this evening. It was chilly. It was, of course, beautiful during the day, and then all of a sudden after I put on my shorts and the breathable shirt and socks and shoes, it gets almost cold. I ran 4.3 miles, nonstop, at Central Park.  I haven't run that far since February. Yesterday was different, because I ran to the park from my apartment, so there was traffic and people to deal with. Today, I tried paying less attention to other people, except when I looked back to make sure it was safe to pass (I'll be taking my driver's test soon, after all). I didn't care who was passing me; I just knew I needed to keep going. I paid attention to my breathing. My stride. I tried to remember all the fine-tuning I did when I was more diligent about running. I enjoyed it.

I took the subway home after stretching for a little while. I sat near a mom and her two little girls. This pair of sisters were loud and cheerful and everyone in the car was watching them and smiling. They appeared to be singing a song to their mom they learned in preschool. The mom was carrying a Disney Princess backpack. It was pink. You know the one. The older sister looked to be about five, and the younger one seemed three years old, except she was little. The song involved clapping and slapping their knees and chanting words I could not quite understand. In the middle of a line of the song, one would interject a completely random thought, and then the other one would continue the conversation until the song turned into handclapping and knee-slapping and a bunch of cutesy outbursts and wonderful giggles. Their little voices and laughter held my heartstrings in a vicegrip, and I nearly fainted from an overdose of cuteness. I heaved a happy, yet longing sigh that spilled my melted heart onto the subway floor. Thanks a lot, biological clock.

***
Well, dadgum, people. Everyone so far has been very gracious in their comments for the About Me page. You have even made me cry. And not that I mind, but what's with everyone except Karissa being anonymous? I kind of can figure out who everyone else is, but a few I'm unsure of. I kind of have to rethink what I'm going to write on Saturday. I kind of was expecting everyone to be a little snarkier, but I can definitely work with what you've given me. Friends, you have presented me with a challenge, and I gladly accept. It will be an honor to attempt to turn the writeup into something entirely about me, but probably less blatantly than Tyra Banks or Oprah Winfrey would do it.  If I fail, it is because I can't think about myself without thinking about the people who have influenced who I am.

***
And, more from the fanmail files. This was to another author of an essay in the dad anthology I've mentioned. Her name is Alice Bradley. I only went to her site the first time to get her contact information, and I also happened to catch a glimpse of a Twitter post about Barbara Kingsolver. This is what I wrote:

Here, I am sitting between Jon and Heather Armstrong, blogging maestros. They're as nice and real and honest as they are on their blogs. They're as easy going and talented-seeming as their writing and photography so strongly demonstrate. Heather was on the Today Show this morning, and Kathy Lee Gifford hardly let her have a word edgewise.

They were signing books in Brooklyn, so I took the 2 train to the Grand Army Station and headed north on Vanderbilt Avenue to a cute bar/lounge called Soda Bar. SO many moms and strollers and fellow bloggers. Except for the bloggers part, it kind of felt like the lobby before church starts.

Well, I was nervous, and I freaked out and my social anxiety kicked in. All the assumptions one makes when you read a person's blog who doesn't know you messed with my head and I started talking to Heather as if she knew all about ME. I did manage to say I was from Jacksonville and that a KKK chapter was about 45 minutes from where I used to live. Then Heather said, "I should blog about that." She signed my book, "For May - So much love, Heather Armstrong."

Three authors of other essays in the book also gave me their autographs. It was such a fun experience, I just wish I'd been a little more graceful under pressure around these blogging celebrities. They're total rockstars and I felt like the goofy groupie. I had the stranger standing in line behind me take a picture of the three of us. My life can go on now that I know Heather Armstrong loves me. 

I won't stalk them. It was more than enough getting to meet them and hang out for a while. Thanks so much, Heather and Jon.