Pickled Onions

My mum loved pickled onions. There is a jar left in the fridge that she had that was unopened. I opened it, and added some to my dinner the other night.

I don't like picked onions, at least in the way that I ate them, but it felt good to connect to something that was my mum's. I wonder if they would be good with brie?

Speaking of connecting, I've been thinking about connecting, and how we do it with things and people. Maybe even with experiences.

I used to blog a lot, and through blogging I connected with a lot of people. I did some incredible things. I had some incredible things happen to me. I'd like to get back to incredible, and I'm not sure how to do it.

While one can connect through writing, writing seems to be a medium that I have less and less connection to. I am a HEAVY consumer of Youtube, and I am fascinated by the platform. I'm incredibly scared of what Youtube can do, too. Comments sections are hell a lot of the time, but maybe that reflects the relationship text has with video? Nah, I'm reading too much into that.

But I want to experiment with it. I want to see if I can do anything with it. Maybe not, but maybe.

Currently Casey Neistat's vlog series has captivated me. How he can hold a consistent narrative through a day, through editing, selective shooting, it's awesome. I'm thrilled at his story telling through the everyday.

I'm going to sleep now, but I want to go to Vegas and New York.