Is it supposed to feel odd to blog? To write something to an unseen, perhaps totally nonexistent audience? Everybody's doin it, but it feels like I'm about to take a step down a very dark staircase and I'm unsure of how many steps there are, or how to gauge their steepness. This is not my house. It makes me feel like I've been having hot dog or onion burps all day. And seeing as how I work with turn-of-the-century machinery, (meaning the 20th) well, current technology always makes me feel a little unnerved.
That said, I'm here at the invisible convention, and I've got my nametag on. The white paper curls at the corners away from my shirt. The thin green line of square border frames my name. I'm trying to figure out the best way to stand - a posture that says confident, but not cocky; astute, not merely clever; alone, but not uncomfortable. I'm fixing my gaze at a point in the distance so I look determined. Come on over and shake my hand, let me tell you a few stories, maybe when the convention ends, we'll grab a beer.